Dakota Noir
by valkyrie-alex
Summary: AU. For Richie Foley, PI, it was just another day. Just another crime. It may end up being the hardest case of his career...if it doesn't kill him. Slash of course!, VR
1. Default Chapter

Hello all,

Well, the next chapter of Through a Glass, Darkly should be up tomorrow, but in the meantime...I thought I'd have a little fun and post this.

This is an extreme AU...no Bang, Static's the only one with his regular powers, and Virgil and Richie do not know each other. I also left it deliberately ambiguous as to _when_ this is taking place, so that you can draw your own conclusions.

Writtenbecause my dear Cyphy (hah! Told you I'd do it!)wanted it...so here you are, dearie. 'Tis not near enough to repay thee for all you have done for me, but the lowly minion (don't ask) hopes thou dost enjoy it. It's certainly fun to write.

Disclaimer: I just like to play with the toys...none of them belong to me. Please don't sue.

* * *

The docks of Dakota City were not his favorite place. The shipping industry had been moving out for years, and the whole area was slowly withering to nothing. Once-thriving businesses were literally rotting on their foundations, and only about twelve of the nearly thirty slips on the waterfront ever saw ships these days. The place was fraught with old, abandoned warehouses, too many back alleys with busted lights, and too many vermin infestations—not all of them bugs or rats.

Besides…the place smelled like dead fish. Add that to the nearly ninety five degree heat, and it made for unpleasant working conditions.

All in all, mucking around on the docks was not the way Richie Foley, private investigator extraordinaire, had been planning to spend his Saturday morning. He didn't have to look hard to find the place he had been summoned to—there was already a crowd of policemen, reporters, and the usual gawkers gathered on one of the slips. Great. He _always_ loved working in the middle of a circus.

Grumbling to himself, he pulled his car up behind a couple of black and whites in the loading section in front of one of the older warehouses, and exited the vehicle. He knew he didn't look especially professional in just his shirtsleeves and suspenders...but there was no way in hell he was going to wear his suit jacket in this heat. Besides, his hat was jammed over the sweaty blond spikes of his hair. That counted for something, didn't it?

Automatically, he checked to make sure his gun was secure in his shoulder holster, and proceeded down to the docks. He flashed his PI license at the uniforms doing crowd control, even though they were already waving him through. It wouldn't do to have anyone accusing the fine Dakota police department of playing favorites and not following procedure.

In actuality, Richie knew he was luckier than most 'flatfoots' on that front. He'd always enjoyed a good working relationship with the Dakota police, and very few of them had a problem with calling him in on 'their' cases, if they thought he could help. Part of it was because his partner and mentor in the PI business, Joe O'Leary, was a retired captain of the force. Part of it was because Richie himself had been a beat cop for a year before deciding it wasn't for him, and following his captain when Joe opened his Investigation office.

Most of it was because Richie was damn brilliant at what he did.

At the tender age of twenty three, Richie had more solved cases under his belt that many detectives and PI's with twenty years experience. Kidnappings, thefts, murders…and the occasional cheating husband. He'd faced them all, and unraveled them with an efficiency and skill that seemed to border on supernatural. Oh, Joe's experience and not inconsiderable 'cop instincts' had been invaluable…but everyone knew Richie was really the driving force behind the success of their office.

It had earned him a bit of celebrity around Dakota, and his name was starting to be known in outside law enforcement circles as well. That wasn't why he did it, though. In truth, he'd have kept at it no matter what. He loved the challenge of it—the intellectual thrill it gave him to look at clues and suspects, and put them all together, like pieces of the ultimate jigsaw puzzle.

He loved the feeling it gave him; knowing that what he was doing was making a difference in peoples' lives, bringing criminals to justice. Just last month, he had solved the abduction of the six year old daughter of one of Dakota's wealthier families. He had been the one to track the kidnappers to their hideout, to lead the police to the girl before her abductors could harm her, or worse. As her hysterically sobbing mother had embraced her, the girl's father had rushed to Richie's side, grasping his hand and tearfully proclaiming over and over that Richie was an angel sent by God. It was for moments like that, that Richie stayed in this business, and knew he would stay in it until he just too old to chase the bad guys anymore.

"Hey, Richie! Over here!" He was startled out of his musings by a gratingly familiar voice, and couldn't hide his wince as a slight figure suddenly broke free of the milling gaggle of reporters and rushed towards him. He shot the uniforms a dirty look when they did nothing to stop the woman currently bearing down on him like a charging rhino, but they merely snickered at him and went back to trying to herd the other reporters back from the crime scene. He schooled his features into a blandly pleasant mask.

The young, dark haired woman stopped beside him, huffing slightly, from the run in heels, and the heat. Unlike him, however, the oppressive heat had served only to give her face a rosy, healthy glow. It wasn't fair…_she_ certainly hadn't left her suit jacket in the car. The smart skirt and jacket she was wearing still looked crisp and clean. Richie knew he himself was sweating like a pig.

"Freida. Always a pleasure," he said without much sincerity. It wasn't that he precisely disliked Freida. He admired her dedication to her profession, and unlike many others in her field, she could always be counted on to report the facts truthfully. She was just…enthusiastic in her pursuit of said facts. Annoyingly so. And he suspected she had a bit of a thing for him.

"Richie, hello. Can I get a comment?" She smiled brightly at him, pencil poised over her pad of paper.

"It's hot," he replied, trying his best not to smirk. She actually moved to write his words down, before arresting the motion and glancing up at him with a slight frown marring her pretty features.

"About the _case_," she huffed, and Richie wasn't sure if she was just not in the mood to play their usual word games, or if his sarcasm had genuinely gone over her head. "What've we got here?"

Richie looked around with exaggerated thoughtfulness, rubbing his chin. "Looks like a crowd of people."

"Richie!" She glared at him, planting her hands on her hips and looking for all the world like an angry schoolmarm about to scold one of her students. Richie lost the battle with the smirk that wanted to twist his lips.

"Freida, I've been here a grand total of three minutes. I haven't even seen the crime scene, yet, because _someone_ decided to stop me and ask for comments."

She blinked at him for a few seconds, and then a blush colored her already flushed cheeks a darker red. "Oh. Well, when you know what's going on—"

"You'll be the first one I say 'no comment' to," he said, smiling with false cheeriness. Then, he tipped the brim of his hat to her cheekily, and hurried down towards the dock before she could say another word.

He proceeded toward the epicenter of all the activity, exchanging greetings with the cops he knew. When he reached the concrete slip itself, he saw that the coroner's wagon had arrived, and the whole area had been cordoned off by sawhorses. He smiled when he recognized the figure barking out orders to all the others. "Adam!" he called, waving one arm.

The tall man turned at the sound of his name, and an answering smile lit his normally grim face as he recognized who had called him. "Hey, partner. I was startin' to think you weren't gonna show up to the party."

Richie shook the other man's hand firmly, reaching up to clap his former beat partner on the shoulder as he came up beside him. "Eh, you know how I like to be fashionably late," he replied amiably. Adam laughed quietly. He and Adam had remained good friends after Richie had left the force, and it was often Adam who called Richie in on cases. "So what've we got?"

Some of the cheerfulness vanished from Adam's face, and the older man frowned faintly. "Dead body. The night watchman found him just before he clocked out at dawn. Near as we can tell, he's been here all night. Coroner's just loading him up now. It's Ferret, Richie." Adam's voice was quiet.

Richie sighed heavily, and took his hat off, running one hand through his sweaty hair. "Ah, damn it," he muttered.

"I know he was one of your informants," Adam said.

"Yeah…I just talked to him last week. Poor guy." Richie jammed his hat back on his head and stuffed his hands in his pants pockets. Ferret had been a small-time fence…a nervous, little man whose pawn shop was more crooked than a pretzel shop; and usually the best source of information for illegal activity going down on the west side of town. Richie had even liked him, a little. As much as one could like a small-time criminal who sold out his fellow criminals for money. Still, Ferret had been basically harmless. "How'd he buy it?"

It was a standard question, but in Dakota it had taken on new meaning. People sometimes died in strange ways in Dakota City.

"Shot…took four to the chest." Richie frowned at that. Ferret certainly hadn't been going to win any popularity contests…but Richie couldn't think of anyone who might be that pissed at the informant.

"I gotta tell ya'…this case is pretty low on our priority list right now. I thought you might wanna take a look, since you knew him, and—" Richie was moving before Adam had finished his sentence. He headed for the cordoned off area, and the other police all gave way for him, standing back to watch an acknowledged master at work.

It was easy to find the place where Ferret had met his end. Blood had stained the concrete of the shipping slip a dark rust color. It was still tacky, and slightly shiny with moisture…but it was obvious the bloodstains were hours old. Richie knelt down beside the stains, and tilted his head, regarding them critically for a moment. His eyes narrowed slightly, and then he glanced up at the Coroner's Wagon, just in time to see one of the coroner's assistants closing the back door on a covered stretcher.

"Hold up a sec!" Richie called, popping lightly to his feet. He jogged over to the wagon and banged twice on the back doors to catch the attention of the attendants. The door opened after a few moments, and an older man peered out, confusion on his craggy face. "Hey, Phelps, let me take a look before you cart him off," Richie said, recognizing the coroner.

"What for, Foley? Nothing to see but a dead rat. Damn bastards…fewer there are, the better." The man moved to slam the door, but Richie caught the edge firmly, a patently false smile fixed on his face.

"Just let me take a look, Phelps." He resisted the urge to roll his eyes as Phelps sighed heavily, before releasing the door and moving back onto the bench.

Richie hopped up into the wagon and moved to the stretcher taking up most of the clear space in the back. He unzipped the heavy black body bag to reveal Ferret, forcing himself to look at the corpse with a cold clinical eye. Seeing a dead body never got easy (and he prayed it never would), but he'd developed a kind of professional detachment over the years. It was more difficult to maintain that detachment when it was someone he'd known, though.

Just as Adam had said, there were four small holes in Ferret's shirtfront, each surrounded by splatters of blood. If Richie had to guess, he'd say they were made by a .38…but he couldn't be sure until he saw the ballistics report. His eyes narrowed further as he examined the wounds.

"Got a pair of gloves?" he asked at length. Phelps heaved a put-upon sigh, but reached down to a black medical bag by his feet and withdrew a pair of rubber gloves. "Thanks," Richie said pleasantly, ignoring the man's sour expression.

He snapped the gloves on and reached down to Ferret's body, lightly probing the bullet wounds. Phelps hadn't bothered to re-button the dead man's shirt after making his initial examination, and Richie pushed the lapels open, revealing the chest.

"What the hell's this?" he asked, sharply.

Ferret's chest was covered with angry, raised welts. They were a deep, purplish red in color, streaks of paler red radiating from each of them…almost like the lines of blood poisoning. There were no wounds or punctures on any of them that Richie could see…it almost looked like an allergic reaction. Phelps leaned forward, and shrugged.

"Hard to say. All the shit these scumbags put in their bodies, could be anything." Phelps did not sound as though he was particularly keen on finding the answer. Richie grit his teeth, and went back to looking over the body. Ferret hadn't been one for hard drugs, Richie knew. He moved upwards, lightly running his hand over Ferret's skull. Finally, he turned first one, then the other of Ferret's limp arms, searching the crook of the elbows critically.

After another few moments, he pulled back and re-zipped the body bag. Pulling the gloves off, he tossed them casually to the floor of the wagon, and straightened. "Thanks, doc," he muttered, then opened the back door and jumped out.

After the oppressive heat inside the wagon, the air outside felt blessedly cool for a few moments. Adam was waiting for him beside the rear doors of the wagon, and raised one eyebrow as Richie slammed the doors again, thumping the side twice to let the driver know he was done. The wagon pulled away almost immediately, and Richie turned to face Adam again.

Adam took one look at his face, and sighed heavily.

"I'm seein' a lot of overtime in my future," the older man groused as Richie strode back over to the blood-spattered concrete.

"Question, Adam. Would you just lie still while someone shot you four times?"

"I take it that's one of those rhetorical questions? Whacha got, Rich?"

"I think Ferret was already dead when he was shot. Probably already dead when he was brought out here."

Adam's brow furrowed. "What makes you say that?"

"Look at the bloodspots here." Richie pointed to the dark stains on the concrete. "There's no smearing, no spurting. You seriously gonna tell me he didn't thrash around at _all_?"

"Might have been unconscious," Adam countered.

"True. But there were no head wounds…he didn't look roughed up. I'll have to see the bloodwork…but something doesn't feel right, here."

"Why would someone bother shooting him if he was already dead?"

"Adam…if you hadn't known that Ferret was one of _my_ informants…if you hadn't called me down here...I think we both know how much attention a dead stool pigeon would have gotten in the department."

"Richie!"

"I don't mean you wouldn't do your job," Richie assured hastily. "Geez Adam, you're one of the best cops I know! I just meant we both know how things go in this city."

Adam looked as though he wanted to protest, but after a moment, he subsided. "Yeah…yeah, you're right," he sighed. He rubbed one hand over his face, wiping at the sweat that had gathered. Richie watched sympathetically…he well remembered how hot the black uniforms got in the summer. "All right, Rich…so then what was whoever killed Ferret trying to cover up?"

Richie rubbed the back of his neck, and thought of the angry welts covering Ferret's chest. "I don't know."

"But you have some ideas." Richie glanced over at Adam, raising one eyebrow. Adam chuckled dryly. "Richie, I was your partner for a year. I know that look. Anything you wanna share?"

"Let me do some digging, see if I can find something solid for you to take to your captain," Richie replied, grinning at his friend. "I'll let you know."

Adam nodded solemnly. "I'll have someone send the reports over when we're done here. You need anything, lemme know."

"Thanks, man. I'll give you a call as soon as I have anything."

"Sounds good. Hey, we still on for tonight?" When they had been partners, Richie and Adam had put in a couple nights a month at a local community center—playing basketball with the kids, supervising lock-ins, tutoring, and the like. Richie rather suspected Adam's intense interest in volunteering had a lot to do with the opportunity it gave him to talk to the center operator's daughter, but he knew his friend enjoyed the time with the kids, too. So did Richie. It was a tradition they had worked hard to maintain after Richie had left the force.

"Wouldn't miss it," he said easily. Adam nodded, and clapped him on the shoulder again.

"All right, I'll pick you up at four then. Don't let Freida get her claws into you on your way out." He winked cheekily, and Richie rolled his eyes. The two began walking back towards where Richie had parked his car.

"C'mon, man, can't you do something about her? I can't even take a whiz without her asking for a comment!"

"Thanks for that mental image. Just remember…you can run faster than she can."

"I hate you."

"Sure you do. Say hi to the Cap for me. See ya' at four!"

"Later, Adam."

Richie made his way back through the crowd, pleased to note that with the body gone, most of them had dispersed. He groaned, though, as he realized that the reporters were still out in full force. Freida was at the head of the pack, staring down towards the docks, and even from a distance, Richie fancied he could see the impatient expression on her face. Damn it, he was too hot to deal with her right now.

Fortunately, he hit upon a solution before she saw him.

Grinning to himself, he ducked into one of the side alleys between the warehouses. It would be a bit of a hike to walk around to where he had left his car…but it was slightly cooler in the shade cast by the tall buildings, and hey, if it got him past the reporters, he was willing to hike to Timbuktu and back. He pulled his hat off, and fanned his face with it as he walked, his mind working a mile a minute.

He knew that, as cold as it sounded, there was no real logical reason to make a big deal out of Ferret's death. He hadn't deserved to die…but Ferret had made his choices in life, and unfortunately, they had been choices that were practically guaranteed to drastically shorten it. Richie hadn't wished the man any ill will…but it wasn't like they had been friends. From practically the moment he had laid eyes on the crime scene, though, he had felt that something was wrong—that something bigger than what it appeared to be had gone down. Richie had long ago learned to go with his instincts, and they hadn't failed him yet.

He had only gone a few yards when something caught his eye. He paused, shoving his hat back on his head. The warehouse he was currently walking past had not been in business for several years, if the dilapidated state of the building was anything to go by. Most of the windowpanes had been busted out or boarded over, and those that were still intact were opaque with grime. There were several 'No Trespassing' signs on the walls, and trash and debris littered the ground around it.

So why was there a fresh set of tire marks leading out of one of the loading bays?

Richie walked over to the tire marks, thick lines of black laid down on the asphalt. Whoever had left them had been in a hurry…and even assuming this place wasn't abandoned and the owners were just _really_ bad housekeepers, the tire tracks were too narrow to be an industrial vehicle. Richie knelt down beside the marks and lightly ran a finger over one of them. No doubt about it…they had been made very recently. Within the last day, if not a matter of hours. And out of a warehouse only a few hundred yards from where Ferret's body had been discovered? It was too much of a coincidence.

Richie turned his gaze thoughtfully to the loading bay door, then to the row of windows beside it. A rusted oil drum lay beneath one of the panes, and he quickly moved toward it. Turning it over so that the solid bottom was facing upwards, he leaned hard on it, decided it would take his weight, and then scrambled up on top. Gingerly, he grasped the window frame, and peered through the dirty pane of glass. He couldn't see a damn thing. Huffing softly, he stretched his body further to one side, craning his neck to look through one of the busted out holes in the windows.

The place certainly looked abandoned, at first glance. Richie's eyes narrowed, though. He couldn't see much from this angle, but there was enough light streaming through the many windows, even as dirty as they were, to make out a few details. The most important of which was that the place was too clean.

On the outside, the building looked ready for a wrecking ball. The inside, however, showed no dirt…no debris. Things had been swept clean and stacked neatly along the walls. Someone had been in there, and recently, too. Richie knew the police had probably searched the businesses immediately around the area where Ferret had been left, but he doubted they had gone this far. It was, indeed, too much a coincidence for Richie's liking.

He bit his lip and leaned back a little, examining the windows. There was no way he'd be able to lift the bay door by himself…that left the windows. Awkwardly, he reached up to get a grip on another part of the wooden frames, and hoisted himself up onto the brick ledge just underneath the windowpanes. It was a tight balancing act—the ledge was only about four inches wide—but he could do it. He'd be sending his clothes to the cleaners when he was done here, though. The largest pane of glass, just to his left, was mostly broken out already. It shouldn't be too hard to bust the rest out with the butt of his gun and then jump down into the warehouse. In the back of his mind was the thought that maybe he should go get Adam…but he didn't want to tie up any of the officers if this turned out to be a dead end, and it was a fairly safe bet that whoever had left the tire tracks were long gone if they'd had anything to do with Ferret's death.

He got a more secure grip on the window frame, unholstered his weapon, and raised it over his head, preparing to bring it down against the filthy glass.

"You know, I thought you law enforcement types were supposed to _keep_ people from breaking and entering."

The voice sounded from directly behind him, nearly against his ear, and he started violently, losing his grip on the window frame. Without the steadying balance, he teetered off the side of the ledge, unable to get a good enough footing to keep himself up. With a surprised cry, he tumbled to the ground, narrowly missing the barrel he had climbed on. He landed on his back painfully, neatly cracking his head against the asphalt. His gun hit the ground beside him, and he snatched it up without thinking about the movement, thumbing the safety off and bringing it to bear instinctively.

He recognized the face grinning down at him before he could fire, though. He considered doing so anyway for a few seconds, before reluctantly raising the muzzle of the gun to the air, flipping the safety back on.

"You," he muttered angrily, picking himself off the ground. One sleeve of his shirt had caught a rough edge on the window frame and was now sporting a large tear. Fortunately, that seemed to be the only casualty of the fall. He glared balefully at the person who had startled him, to no effect. The other's smug grin remained firmly in place.

There were a great many strange and wondrous things in the world. Richie fully acknowledged that fact, though his mind tended to be more analytical than most. Sometimes those strange and wondrous things came in a very human (or at least human-seeming) package—protectors, champions of mankind with amazing powers. Metropolis had Superman. Gotham had the Batman. Detroit had the Green Lantern.

Dakota had a pest.

"What do you want, Static?"


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: No...they still aren't mine, goshdarnit. I'm not making any money, here, and still hope no one will sue me.

Written for Cypher, just 'cause he's cool like that.

* * *

No one knew the full story of the man who called himself 'Static'. He had first appeared in the skies of Dakota nearly three years ago, while Richie was still in the Academy. He still remembered the day one of the other cadets had come running into the cafeteria during dinner, yelling at the top of her lungs that they had to check out that evening's news. A bank heist had gone down in the shopping district…but the case had been solved in a record time. It had been pretty easy, what with the first officers on the scene coming upon the criminals stuck to the ceiling by massive amounts of static electricity.

After that, the masked man had been a fixture in Dakota.

Soaring above the streets of the city on a glowing metal disc, his black trench coat billowing dramatically behind him…he raised cheers wherever he was spotted. No one knew who he was or where he had come from, although Static himself claimed to be a lifelong resident of the city. No one knew how he had acquired his electric powers, and on that Static himself had remained silent. He'd made it his business to render assistance to the police force, taking on criminals wherever they dared to show their faces. His amazing powers and charisma had won him the hearts and minds of thousands of Dakota's residents. To most, he was a bona fide hero.

To Richie Foley, he was a pest.

"What do you want, Static?"

The insufferably smug grin widened a bit. The darker man crossed his arms over his chest and studied Richie thoughtfully. "Depends. What're you offering?"

"Aren't there any cats in trees that need saving, today?" Richie bit out, ignoring Static's comment. That was part of the problem he had with Static…'Double Entendre' seemed to be the other's native tongue.

"Got the last one down this morning. Heard about the body on the police band, thought I'd check it out. And then I heard my _favorite_ detective was on the job and I _had_ to come down."

"Adam's over on the dock," Richie retorted, as he re-holstered his gun. The grin widened still further, and Static lightly hopped off his disc, landing with a soft thud next to Richie. The disc clattered to the ground behind him, and he called it to his side with a burst of electricity, tucking the bulky thing under one arm.

That was the other problem Richie had with Static. The man seemed to have also made it his personal mission in life to interfere with as many of Richie's cases as he could. Occasionally…_occasionally_, Static had proven to be some slight assistance, but Richie knew he would have been just fine on those occasions even without the electric hero and as far as Richie was concerned, the assistance was not worth the aggravation.

"So, what've we got?" Static asked conversationally, blithely ignoring the murderous looks Richie was shooting him.

"_We_ have nothing. _I_ have a dead informant and a warehouse to check out."

"Aw, c'mon Rich. We could be a good team if you'd just give me a chance. A real good team."

"Would you _please_ go pester Adam? He still buys into that whole 'Dakota's finest son' bit."

"Oh, you read that article, huh?" Static sounded entirely too pleased, and Richie rolled his eyes heavenward.

"The headline caught my eye while I was lining the cat box," he huffed.

"You don't have a cat."

"Will you go away—wait, how did you know I don't have a cat?"

Instead of answering, Static jerked a thumb towards the warehouse Richie had been trying to break into. "What do you think's in there?" Clearly, he had no intention of leaving.

Richie closed his eyes and counted to ten. Then twenty. Then he did it again in French. Briefly, he considered just walking away and returning when Static had lost interest in following him around, or got called away on something else. His instincts were screaming at him to check out the warehouse, though. "I don't know what's in there. But I found tire marks. Fresh tire marks leading out of a building that probably closed a decade ago."

"Lots of these places aren't as abandoned as they look. Squatters, gangs, homeless…hell, I broke up a gambling hall in one of these buildings last year."

"Lots of these places don't have dead bodies laying a couple buildings away."

"But then—"

"Look, you want to help? Help. Otherwise, leave me alone and let me do my job." Richie's voice had dropped to the perfectly calm and blandly pleasant monotone he used when he was two steps away from _really_ pissed off. Those who knew him well knew this was the opportune moment to make tracks elsewhere.

Static apparently recognized this as well. Too bad he wasn't that easily scared off.

The electric man merely smiled again, and actually had the nerve to wink at Richie. "See? We make a good team…I knew you'd see it sooner or later."

Richie idly wondered if he had the nerve to bang his head against the brick wall of the warehouse hard enough to knock himself unconscious. However, Static stretched out his free hand toward the loading bay door and narrowed his eyes slightly.

A halo of purple light surrounded his hand, arcing out in a lightning bolt towards the door. A twist of Static's fingers and the door raised by itself, opening the warehouse to them. Static grinned at him as the light faded, and bowed low at the waist, grandly gesturing for Richie to precede him. Muttering a few very ungentlemanly phrases beneath his breath, Richie pulled his weapon out again and did so. Just at the loading bay door, though, he turned.

Static's eyes quickly jerked upwards from where they had been focused on…God, he hated this man. "Stay out of my way," he ordered firmly.

Static plastered a patently insincere 'Who, me?' expression on his face, and nodded solemnly.

They moved silently into the dimness of the warehouse. Weak morning sunlight was filtering through the filthy windows, stronger in some places where the glass was missing. It was enough to see by, barely, but much of the warehouse was cast in deep shadow. Richie paused for a moment, listening intently. He knew it would have been impossible for anyone who was still here to miss the large bay door rattling open…but he was fairly certain this place was long empty.

There was the soft, chittering rustle of rats in the shadows, the creak of old wood, and the whistling of a light breeze in the rafters. However, there was no hint of human movement. Richie walked a bit further into the cavernous room, his weapon still held at the ready, but pointing down towards the floor now. He heard Static treading lightly behind him, and then suddenly felt a light rush of wind.

Static soared upwards on his disc, towards the ceiling, purple light crackling around him. The light burst outwards towards the huge industrial lights hanging from the ceiling. A fizzing, popping sound filled the warehouse, and then most of the lamps stuttered to life, casting much stronger illumination on all corners of the place. Richie's gaze darted about his surroundings, trying to keep one eye on Static, who was swooping to and fro over the length of the warehouse.

"It's clear, Rich!" Static called after a few minutes. He dived back down to where Richie was standing to hover a few feet over Richie's head. "What now?"

Richie ignored him, reholstering his gun and casting a critical eye around the warehouse. As he had first suspected, the place was too clean. One half of the warehouse was every bit as filthy as he would have expected. The floor was thick with dirt, grime, and rat droppings. Refuse littered the expanse of the floor—boxes, bits of old equipment, trash, broken bottles.

The other half had been used, recently. The floors had been swept, the debris and refuse left by the previous owners stacked neatly against one wall. Richie focused on this section of the warehouse, walking forward to stand in the center of the cleared area. Static followed him silently, still hovering on his disc.

There were strange scuff-marks on the floor, places where the floorboards had been scored and scratched by heavy equipment. Such would not have been particularly unusual in a warehouse…but these markings, like the tire tracks, looked fresh. Richie examined them closely, wishing he had a camera available.

"Hey, Richie…take a look at this." He glanced up in annoyance at Static's soft voice, but the annoyance vanished when he saw the hero kneeling on the floor a few feet away.

"What is it?" he asked, moving over to Static's side. There were a few tracings of damp sawdust on the floor, as if someone had used the stuff to soak up a spill, and then been sloppy in sweeping it up. Richie's brow furrowed as he picked up a pinch between his fingers, bringing it to his face and sniffing delicately. "Ugh." He threw the clump down and wiped his hands on his pants leg. "Blood. And vomit." Someone had been _violently_ ill here, and recently.

Static was shooting him an incredulous look. Richie shrugged one shoulder and ducked his head, but did not feel like explaining to Static how much of both he'd had to clean up in his house, growing up. Static raised one eyebrow, but didn't comment. Instead, he tossed his disc into the air again, charging it up with a negligent wave of his hand. As he did so, Richie caught a glitter of something in the light cast by Static's powers.

"Hold on a sec," he said briskly. He pointed towards the area, near the wall, where the lights didn't quite reach. "Give me some light over there."

"What's the magic word?"

Richie shot his companion an annoyed look. "Now," he said dryly.

"Oooh, forceful." Static complied, though, casting a wide funnel of light in the direction Richie had indicated. The object glittered again, small and seemingly innocuous. Richie pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and moved forward, kneeling down to scoop the object up in the folds of the clean cotton. "Whatcha got?" Static asked. In answer, Richie held the object up for him to see.

It was a small, glass vial, the sort hospitals used to store blood samples. There was no label on the glass, and a few drops of amber liquid had dried on the inside.

Static frowned faintly. "What's that stuff?" he asked. Richie shrugged.

"Could be nothing. Could be anything. I'll send it over to Adam…let the crime lab take a look at it."

Static nodded, and turned a slow circle in the air, shedding his light over the rest of the darkened corners, searching for anything else that might be a clue. As the glow passed over what must have been the main fuse box, he paused. "Hey, Richie…what does that look like to you?" he asked slowly.

Richie looked up from his examination of the vial, and followed Static's gaze. It didn't take him long to spot what Static had spotted, ad he felt himself go cold all over. A smaller box had been attached to the fuse box, with thick cables and wires that spiraled out of a small, round contraption. The cables looked to be attached to at least a dozen small, red sticks. Richie sighed softly.

"That…would be a bomb."

"Yeah. That's what I thought." Before Richie could protest, Static zoomed forward on his disc, towards the bomb.

"Static! You idiot!" Richie shouted.

"Go get Lieutenant Evans…tell him to call the bomb squad!" Static called back over his shoulder.

Richie froze for a split-second, undecided. Then he shook his head…by the time he ran back to the crime scene, tracked Adam down, and got the bomb squad raised, Static would probably have blown the place sky high. "Moron," he hissed, before running forward.

Static had stopped a just in front of the device, and was just staring at it when Richie reached his side. Static glanced down at him, irritation on his face. "Richie, get _out_ of here."

"I had an introductory one week course with the department bomb technicians," Richie snapped. "Top that, I'll go."

"I…played a lot of Operation when I was a kid," Static muttered sullenly.

"Hah! I win. _You_ go get Adam and tell him to call the bomb squad."

"I'm not leaving you alone in here!" Static protested.

"Then shut up and let me look at this." Richie pushed his glasses up his nose and took a deep breath, regarding the device in front of him. It looked fairly simple…a straightforward timing device attached to twelve sticks of dynamite. How…unoriginal. Still more than enough to take a good portion of this place out, though, and the fire it would start would no doubt take out the rest.

Which, Richie realized suddenly, was the point.

He narrowed his eyes and turned his attention to the timer. He tilted his head slightly, and frowned. "What time is it?"

"Huh?"

"What time is it?" Richie repeated impatiently.

"I dunno…ten, ten thirty."

Richie turned back to the timer, confusion blossoming on his face. "This thing isn't set to go off until tonight."

"How do you know?"

"'Cause if it wasn't, we'd have been dead five minutes ago."

Static's eyes widened comically. "That's it, we're outta here." He lowered his disc slightly, reaching out as though to grab Richie's arm.

"No, wait…look at this, the whole thing's attached to the clock. If we stop the clock, it'll short the whole thing out…or it'll"

A burst of power erupted from Static's hand, sparking towards the timer. A corona of purple light enveloped the timer, and a hissing pop exploded from the device. A wisp of smoke curled up from it…and the hands began to spin around at an accelerated rate.

"Set the whole thing off right now," Richie finished tiredly. "I hate you. Have I ever told you that?"

"Mentioned it a few times." Static dipped down and, before Richie could react, grabbed him around the waist, lifting him to stand in front of him on the disc.

The disc swept around in a wide arc, and then zoomed towards the still open loading door. Automatically, Richie swung an arm around Static's neck for balance. Static pulled him back tightly against his chest as he forced still more speed out of the disc.

They burst out of the warehouse and Static simply shot the disc straight upwards. Richie gasped as the ground receded rapidly. He thought he heard Static chuckle behind him, but the whistling of the air around them filled his ears.

Barely two minutes after Static had set off the timer, there was a muffled explosion from below them. Richie glanced down in time to see one wall of the warehouse they had just been in blow out. Any remaining intact windowpane was shattered, glass fragments flying outwards in a glittering shower. Smoke began pouring out of the hole that had been created in the wall, billowing out of the shattered windows, and Richie could see the orange lick of flame starting.

From this height, he could see over to the slip where Ferret's body had been discovered. The gathered crowd was obviously aware of the explosion. Richie could see several uniforms scrambling for their cars, and he hoped that someone would think to summon the fire department.

A loud, cracking groan suddenly filled the air, and Richie's attention was jerked back to the burning warehouse. His jaw dropped as the roof of the warehouse suddenly collapsed, a fount of flame and sparks bursting upwards as years of rot, and the collapse of one wall did the building in. The brick walls were still standing, but the roof had totally caved in on itself.

A low, long whistle sounded in his ear, and he was suddenly reminded of the fact that he was still clutching Static's neck, and Static still had his arms wound tightly around his waist. He didn't dare let go of the other man, this high up, but he didn't like how comfortable Static seemed with their current situation.

"Put me down," he demanded, not liking how pithy his voice sounded, but unable to do anything about it.

Static chuckled softly, right against his ear. "Right now? It's a long way down, Rich."

"Static," Richie growled. "I'm not kidding. Take us down!"

"Scared of heights?"

"Put me down, or I'm gonna shoot you."

"No you won't."

"Static!"

"All right, all right…geez. Gotta say, though, I kind of like hearing you scream—"

"Finish that sentence and I _will_ kill you."

"Directions at me," Static finished. The smug grin was firmly back in place. Richie growled inarticulately, as Static began directing the disc back towards the ground. By the time they reached the street, a knot of police had gathered.

Static stopped the disc a few feet over the asphalt, and Richie wasted no time letting go his grip on the other man's neck. He could practically _feel_ the smirk boring into his back as Static steadied him while he jumped down.

Funny…Richie hadn't been aware that steadying someone had to involve putting your hand on their ass.

He turned around as soon as his feet touched the asphalt, glaring up at the electric hero. He opened his mouth to give Static a piece of his mind, but Adam's worried voice interrupted him.

"Richie! Christ, man, are you all right?"

Static jerked his chin towards the approaching officer. "You better go talk to him. You can handle the police report, here, right? I hate those things."

"You…you…" Richie's vocabulary deserted him, and he clenched his fists. Static merely smiled again, tipped him a jaunty salute, and then the disc shot upwards, carrying him away.

Adam reached his side a moment later, breathing heavily. "Rich…Jesus, man, what happened? What was Static doing here?"

Richie sighed heavily, as he realized there was no way he was getting back to his offices until he had been interviewed by someone, and given a statement. He jerked his hat off his head yet again, wiping his wrist across his brow.

"I _hate_ that man."


	3. Chapter 3

Hello all,

Arrrrrrgh! I'm going out of my mind with boredom...I hate spring break! Hate it, hate it, hate it! I can't believe I was looking forward to it for so long. Grrrr...okay, 72 hours until I can go back to school. I can do it, I can.

Disclaimer: They aren't mine, nope, nope, nope. Don't want you to sue, yup, yup, yup.

Still written for Cyphy...just because minions have to take a little revenge sometimes.

* * *

Three and a half hours later, Richie _finally_ pulled up to the curb outside the modest two-story building he and Joe kept their office in. The brownstone had once been a flower shop, the owner of which had wanted to retire to Florida with his son. He had sold it to Joe for a song as a favor for all the retired police captain had done for the community.

The bottom floor was where he and Joe ran their business. It wasn't the most spacious of places, but there was room for each of them to have their own office. There was also a small waiting area, where their secretary, Maria, held court from behind her desk. Joe lived in an apartment on the top floor, which Richie had shared for the first six months while they had struggled to get their business off the ground. Ah, those had been fun days…sleeping on Joe's lumpy couch, eating off a hotplate because Joe couldn't afford a stove, and bathing in the sink.

They had no such problems these days, of course. Their little office had no end of clients, and Joe was actually making noises about moving to a larger space, in a better neighborhood. Richie didn't think it would happen. They were a fixture around here…the only legal help many of the less fortunate people of the city would consider trusting. Joe wouldn't abandon those people anymore than Richie would.

'_O'Leary & Foley, Private Investigators_' was stenciled onto the large, display-style window that faced the street. Not a particularly original name, but it filled Richie with pride every time he saw it. He always took just a few seconds to stand and admire it, to remind himself that he really had made something of his life, despite his father's predictions. Or at least, he usually did.

Today, he simply shut his car door, trudged up the steps leading to the front door, and slammed through. The bells over the door gave an undignified jangle, and he was just in time to see Maria spring back from someone standing in front of her desk. The young woman snatched up a magazine from her desktop and tried to act like she had been reading it the whole time. Richie shifted his gaze to the back of the person standing in front of her, noting the flame-red hair and grease-stained coveralls, and sighed.

"The magazine's upside down, Maria. Hey, Francis."

Francis worked at an auto shop just down the street from them, and had been a frequent visitor during his lunch breaks practically since Joe and Richie had opened the place. More precisely…from the day Joe had hired Maria. Richie and Joe didn't really mind, so long as Maria didn't get _too_ distracted when Francis showed up…and they had a fairly good working relationship with the young man.

They pretended not to know about the illegal gambling that went on in the back of the auto-shop, Francis did their car maintenance for free, and kept them apprised of any _really_ big news in the neighborhood. Richie couldn't really say he approved of the flirtation that went on between his secretary and the mechanic, but he trusted that Maria knew what she was getting into, and that Francis was sufficiently fond of living that he'd never do anything to hurt Maria. Besides, Francis though Static was as much of a nuisance as Richie did, so the guy couldn't be all bad.

Francis ran a hand through his hair and turned to face him, his typically crocodile-like grin on his face. The grin faded, though, as he actually caught sight of Richie. A low whistle made its way out of his throat, and Richie heard Maria gasp. "Man…at least tell me the other guy looks worse," Francis said, as Maria leaped up from her chair and hurried around the desk, her high heels clicking on the polished floor.

"Mr. Foley…Richie! What happened!"

Richie glanced down at himself…his suit jacket, thrown over one arm, looked perfectly fine. The rest of him, though…his white shirt was practically translucent with sweat, stained with soot and smoke in several places. The sleeve was torn and hanging off his wrist by the cuff, and his hat had was covered with dust, from where he had thrown it to the ground in frustration after Static had left him to deal with the police. He knew his face was filthy, dirty from the smoke and streaked where sweat had run down his face in rivulets.

Maria's hands fluttered over his torso, as though she wanted to check him over for injury…but didn't want to actually touch him. He smiled at her tiredly. "The Human Sparkplug set off a bomb at my crime scene. I'm okay, Maria, really. A shower and a change of clothes, and I'll be good as new. Please tell me I still have a change of clothes here."

"Up in the closet. A _bomb_ went off at the crime scene?" Maria asked, quirking one delicate eyebrow upwards. Richie nodded. She glanced over at the calendar hanging on one wall, and then smiled widely. "Hah! It's only the tenth…you owe me dinner, Francis."

"No way! He said it went off at the scene…doesn't mean it was actually meant for him," Francis protested. "Richie, was the bomb meant for you?"

Richie blinked stupidly for a moment, before slowly shaking his head. "I think it was meant to cover up evidence, actually…you guys take bets on what part of the month someone will try to blow me up in?"

Francis and Maria had the grace to look a bit sheepish. "Well, boss, you have to admit, it happens a lot," Maria said quietly.

"Twice! It's happened twice. Twice is not '_a lot_.'"

"Are you counting that time that old mafia guy planted a pipe bomb under your car?" Francis asked curiously.

"Three times! It's happened three times…it's still not a lot," Richie amended.

"Well what about that time—"

"Is Joe in?" Richie interrupted, before Maria could finish.

"He just went upstairs for lunch."

"Great, thanks." Richie turned to head up the flight up stairs that separated his office from Joe's on this floor, but paused, and turned back to Francis.

"Hey…you know Ferret, right?" Francis's sour look spoke volumes. "Know anyone who might want him dead?"

"Besides everyone who's ever met him?" Francis retorted.

"I mean, want him dead and actually do it."

Francis looked taken aback for a moment. "Someone offed Ferret?"

Richie nodded grimly. "Down on the docks."

Francis's brow furrowed, and he shook his head slowly. "No one liked the little creep…but no one really had it in for him. Not that I'd know anything about things like that," he finished with exaggerated innocence. Richie quirked an eyebrow.

"Of course not. How much longer you got for lunch?"

"Eh, we had some parts come in this morning. Carmen closed the shop down to do inventory…let me off for the day." Francis crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against Maria's desk.

Richie nodded to himself, and then shot Maria a small smile. "We got any appointments today?"

"No…your two-thirty called to reschedule. You're both clear," Maria answered, not even needing to look at her appointment book. Sometimes it felt as though Maria kept their entire lives on track…not just their business.

"Then why don't you take the rest of the day off? Go out to dinner, catch a show…go do something fun."

"Really?" Maria shoved a lock of dark hair behind her ear and smiled dazzlingly at him. Not waiting for him to confirm, she turned the smile on Francis, and the way the other man's whole face softened was almost enough to make Richie forget his questionable background.

"I'll go get the car," Francis huffed. He did not, however, look at all put out.

"You're playing with fire, there. You do know that, right?" Richie whispered as Francis exited the office, promising to return to pick Maria up in ten minutes.

Maria merely smiled at him again, walking back around her desk to grab her purse. She pulled her compact out and checked her makeup, patting her hair back into place…although Richie couldn't see where it was _out_ of place.

"El amor de una mujer buena puede domesticar al hombre más silvestre," she replied evenly. Richie snorted to himself.

"The love of a good woman can tame the wildest man, huh?"

"Advice from mi abuela. She's never failed me yet." Satisfied with her appearance, she stepped out from behind her desk again. "I can take care of myself, Richie. Francis is a gentleman with me. And if he's not…he will discover what growing up in the barrio can do for a woman's right cross. Besideshe knows you and Joe are armed."

Richie grinned at her, acknowledging the truth of the statement. Maria had stuck by them through everything…even the days when they sometimes couldn't afford to pay her for her invaluable services. It was a well acknowledged fact that the young woman had both Joe and Richie wrapped around her little finger.

A car horn sounded twice just outside the office, and Maria returned his grin. She lightly kissed the air by his cheek, apparently still not willing to touch him, then turned and dashed out. Richie watched her go, fondly. At least someone around here had a love life. When was the last time _he_ had been on a date?

Just for the hell of it, he closed his eyes and tried to remember the last time he'd been out with someone other than Joe, Maria, or Adam. When he started measuring in terms of months, he stopped, too depressed to continue. He didn't even want to _try_ to calculate how long it had been since he'd had sex. He thought it might have been back when he was still in the Academy.

Richie shook his head, slightly, and then turned to head up the stairs to Joe's apartment. He couldn't stand being this dirty for a minute more. He opened the door of his office and tossed his suit jacket in to land over the back of the chair he had for clients to sit in, and then trudged up the stairs, snatching his hat off his head as he went.

The upstairs apartment had changed since Richie had been a tenant on the couch. In the building's flower shop days, it had just been storage space, with a miniscule half-bath. When he and Joe had sunk all their savings into the building, and moved in, Joe's bed had been shoved against one wall, Richie's couch against the other, and their kitchen had consisted of a card table, a hotplate, and a wheezing refrigerator. In the years since, Joe had put actual walls in the place, and brought all his earthly possessions out of storage.

Richie made his way down the hall towards the living room, past the dozens of pictures that Joe had hung on the wall. There were no family portraits (Joe had often joked that he'd been married to the force for so many years, a wife would have been too boring), but Joe's father had been in the Navy, and Joe had lovingly displayed all the pictures of the man's travels. Richie loved to just look at the sepia-toned prints of far-off places he had never seen, imagining what it might be like to walk along the beaches, and streets, and mountaintops that were immortalized in Joe's hallway.

"Cap? Hey, Joe, where are you!"

"Richie, that you?" He heard Joe's gruff voice echo from the kitchen, and made his way down the hall into the living room.

"No, it's your other partner." Richie stopped in the living room to loose his suspenders and strip out of his ruined shirt. He dropped it in the rag box by the much newer and less lumpy couch that Joe had purchased. Joe's cleaning lady would no doubt find use for it when she came next week.

"Oh, gotcha. Well if you see Richie, tell him he's in trouble when I get my hands on him."

Richie hung his head as he dropped the hat on an end table, on which rested the only picture in the place that had people in it—Richie and Joe, in their dress blues, on the day Richie had graduated from the Police Academy. He rolled his neck from side to side as he walked the final few feet to the kitchen door.

"What'd I do?" he groused as he slipped through the swinging door. "Because whatever it was, it wasn't my fault!"

Joe O'Leary had always seemed to Richie to be every stereotype of the Irish cop brought to life. He was a mountain of a man, six foot four and two hundred fifty pounds of solid muscle. Well…maybe not _solid_ muscle, anymore, but at fifty-six, Richie supposed the man could be forgiven for having a little extra padding around the middle. His bright red hair had gone iron-gray a few years ago, but his blue eyes still shone with intelligence and wit. Joe might have been ready to retire from police work…but the man still had a lot of years of service in him.

He'd taken Richie under his wing practically from the moment Richie had entered the Academy, personally grooming him to join his precinct when Richie graduated. They'd become fast friends, practically family…and Richie considered the man more a father than his real father had ever dreamed of being. When Joe had decided to retire and open a PI office only a year after Richie had joined the force...and asked Richie to come with him, Richie had jumped at the chance and never looked back.

Even if he _had_ spent the next six months with a crick in his back.

Joe was seated at the table in front of his stove, a sandwich and a mug of what Richie fervently hoped was not the last of the coffee in front of him. The ex-police captain sighed heavily as Richie came into view.

"Damn it, kid, Adam swore you weren't hurt."

"I'm not," Richie said, dropping into the chair opposite the older man. "Just really, really dirty. And hungry." Without another word, Joe shoved the plate with the sandwich on it towards Richie. Richie tipped him a nod of thanks and picked half the huge ham sandwich up, then shoved the plate back towards the other man.

"What happened?" Joe asked, rising and moving over to the cabinet where he kept his dishes. In short order, Richie had a steaming mug of coffee in front of him as well, double sugar and a splash of cream, just the way he liked it.

"-err'ts deamph an' stactick blew umph a wr'ouse—" Richie mumbled around a mouthful of ham and Swiss.

"Ferret's dead? Damn…he was a good informant. And how the hell did Static blow up a warehouse?" Joe refilled his own mug and sat back down, a thoughtful frown on his face.

"He set off a time bomb—"

"You were in _another_ explosion?"

"Why does everyone keep saying that? People do _not_ try to blow me up that often. Three times…yeesh!"

"Are you counting that time someone tried to rig the propane tank in your apartment complex?"

"_Four_ times. It's still not that much." Richie ignored the half amused-half horrified look his partner was shooting him, and bit savagely into the sandwich. This time, he chewed and swallowed before he attempted to explain anything else that had happened that morning, washing it down with a swig of coffee.

"A security guard found Ferret's body out on one of the slips…four slugs in the chest. I think he was dead before he was shot, and someone emptied their gun into him to cover up what really killed him."

"Dead stoolie...happens all the time," Joe agreed. "Wouldn't cause too much of a stir."

"Anyway, I was taking the long way back to my car—"

"Reporters?"

"Reporters," Richie sighed. Joe nodded sagely. "So I was taking the long way back to my car, and I came across a set of tire marks outside a warehouse a couple over from where they found Ferret. I mean, someone was laying some serious rubber getting out of there. I was going to check it out, when the overgrown lightning bug shows up."

Joe chuckled dryly at Richie's tone. "The way you talk about the man, you'd think Static was the devil himself."

"He is! Why am I the only one who sees it?" Richie downed half of his remaining coffee in one go and set the mug down, glaring at it darkly.

"So, the warehouse?" Joe prompted.

"Huh? Oh right…not much there. The place had been swept out pretty good. Someone was obviously using it for something, recently, though. I found a glass tube with something inside of it…left that with Adam….and then Static blew the place up." He trailed off, staring down at his half-finished sandwich.

"Richie? What are you thinking?" Richie raised an eyebrow, and Joe snorted softly behind his own mug. "I know that look."

Richie shrugged, and thought of the sawdust covering up a spot where someone had been so violently sick. "I think that warehouse was where Ferret really died. I think whoever killed him blew the place up to cover their tracks. The bomb was set to go off tonight—after all the cops would've been gone. A warehouse fire in that section of the docks? No one would have batted an eye…the whole place is a box of matches waiting to go up."

"Could just be the owners trying to collect insurance. People have been losing money out there for years…some of 'em get desperate."

Richie tilted his head thoughtfully. "I'm gonna look into that…but it's just too much coincidence, Joe. I don't have any hard evidence, yet, but I know there's something big going on here. I can feel it."

Joe nodded, finishing the last of his coffee. "Well, kid, I'll take one of your feelings over just about anything else, any day of the week." Richie smiled softly at the expression of confidence. He knew Joe trusted him implicitly—wouldn't have asked him to join the office if he didn't—but it was always nice to hear it said. "You need me to take the Wong case while you're working on this?"

Richie snorted derisively. "Harrington's running a sweatshop…and he's a cocky bastard about it. I can't believe no one's put any heat on him before now. I've almost got enough to shut him down for good. Another few days and Mr. Wong and his family will _own_ that place."

Joe shared his satisfied grin…there was nothing like taking down someone who _really_ deserved it. "Good job. I'll handle anything new that comes in for the next few days…see what you can dig up. Keep me updated, all right?"

"Sure thing, Cap."

"Now…explain to me one more time how you got into another explosion?"


	4. Chapter 4

Greetings and salutations, all!

So, here we go again...just playing around while the next chapter of Glass percolates in my twisted brain. Many thanks to all who have reviewed, and I hope you enjoy these next offerings as well.

Written for Cypher, because he asked nicely, and because I'm just a good little minion. Thank you for being wonderful, dear!

Disclaimer: If you ever want to turn Static Shock over to me, I'll be happy to take care of everyone. Until that day, though, I don't own anything, and am making no money off of this.

* * *

"Okay guys, this is it…we've got one last chance. If we don't do this right, they're going to slaughter us. Suggestions?" Richie whispered tensely, shooting furtive glances behind him. For the second time that day, sweat was pouring down his face and back, nearly soaking his shirt through. Impatiently, he shoved a few damp clumps of hair off his forehead, meeting each of his companions' gazes in turn.

"I think we should run 'Catty-Corner,' Rich."

"No way! 'Garbage Can'! Let's do 'Garbage Can', Richie!"

"Cheshire Cat."

"Oh, yeah! Cheshire Cat…let's do Cheshire Cat!"

"Yeah!"

At the round of high pitched affirmatives, Richie nodded. He glanced around the circle of equally sweaty boys and girls clustered around him with exaggerated thoughtfulness. The children, ranging in ages from ten to about fifteen, grinned excitedly, waiting for their 'captain's' orders.

"C'mon, Foley…you know you're just puttin' it off. You guys are going down!" A chorus of catcalls and whoops followed Adam's affectionately mocking words. Richie's team answered, even louder, until the gym they were playing in echoed with elementary school trash talk.

"Whoa, whoa, guys, c'mon!" Richie called at last, laughing helplessly at some of the more creative 'Yo Mama' remarks. Adam was similarly engaged in trying to calm his team down. "Okay guys…we do Cheshire Cat on the tip off…Pete, think you can get us the ball?" Richie addressed the last to the tallest boy on his team, a lanky, fifteen-year-old.

"You got it, Rich," the boy replied seriously. Richie nodded back just as gravely.

"All right. Let's put it in." He stuck his hand out into the center of their huddle, and tried not to wince as seven other hands tried to be the first to slap on top of his. "One, two, three—"

"LET'S GO GUMSHOES!" the kids screamed at once.

"BOYS IN BLUE!" Adam's team shouted a split second later.

The teams broke and Richie took his position on the court, shaking his head at the names the children had picked for the teams tonight. He grinned at Adam across the half court line, subtly nodding towards a rather short, quiet boy with thick glasses, who was standing nervously in the spot Richie had directed him to. Adam nodded back, shortly, and quickly shifted to his left.

The 'ref,' another boy who was entirely too fond of the whistle in Richie's opinion, threw the ball in the air. As he had promised, Pete got the ball for their team in short order, and the kids expertly broke into the play called 'Cheshire Cat.' Richie darted to one side, catching the ball passed to him by Pete, and held still just long enough for some of Adam's team to swarm him. He dribbled left and right, helplessly trapped behind three kids who were all at least two feet shorter than him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Adam moving into position, struggling to keep a straight face.

"Damian! Head's up!" he shouted, hurling the ball at the nervous, bespectacled boy he'd pointed out to Adam. An expression of shock crossed the boy's small face, but he caught the ball and immediately started for the basket. Adam moved to intercept…expertly dodging _just_ to the wrong side to allow the boy to slip past him.

A cheer went up from Richie's team as Damian passed the ball back to Pete, who sunk it in the basket for the winning two points just as the 'ref' blew the final whistle.

The kids on Richie's team swarmed Damian and Pete, exchanging high fives and thumping backs. Richie felt a satisfied smile spreading across his face as he noted the wide grin splitting Damian's…the boy looked happier than he had all night. The celebration broke up as Adam's team joined the mob, calling out good-natured promises of retribution next time, and exchanging handshakes and congratulations. He and Adam always took great pains to stress the importance of sportsmanship.

He walked over to the group of kids to bestow his own high-fives and backslapping. Parents who had gathered in the bleachers to watch began making their way down onto the court, and Richie took the opportunity to quietly slip away from the group. He made his way over to the bleachers himself, smiling and nodding at the parents he knew, and collapsed on the bench, reaching automatically for the water bottle he'd stashed under it.

He leaned back, closing his eyes as he gulped the water down…then sputtered as a towel hit him in the face. He choked on a mouthful of water and snatched the towel off his face to see Adam grinning at him without a hint of remorse.

"Sore loser," Richie muttered, though there was no heat to the words. He began swiping at his face with the towel, grimacing at the wet feel of his t-shirt. Adam shrugged and flopped down onto the bench beside him. Richie stretched his legs out in front of him, groaning theatrically. "I'm too young to be too old to do this!"

"I tell ya', these kids get faster every time we come out here," Adam agreed. He began unwinding a brace bandage from his left knee.

"Hey, don't look now…there's your girlfriend." Richie nudged Adam in the side with his elbow. A pretty young woman in a long black skirt and a green, sleeveless blouse was talking to a group of parents by the doors of the gym. Richie hid a smirk behind his water bottle as a dopey grin chased across Adam's face before he could help himself. Richie knew that Adam would have kept coming to the center with him even if Sharon Hawkins hadn't been part of the picture…but she certainly helped motivate the older man.

"She's not my girlfriend," Adam protested automatically.

"No, she's just a girl you've been mooning over for almost two years. Why don't you just ask her out?"

"No way…I can't."

"Sure you can, you just go—'hey Sharon, I have the social skills of a preschooler, but would you mind getting a cup of coffee with me anyway?'"

Adam swiped playfully at the back of Richie's head. "And when was the last time you went out with anyone? You ain't in any position to be giving me advice…_or_ insulting my social skills, partner."

"All the more reason for you to ask Sharon out…_one_ of us has to get a love life the other one can live through vicariously, and you've got better prospects than me."

"Richie…man… Sharon's not a 'prospect'. She's…she's _classy,_ brother."

"If you like her that much, go for it," Richie said, all traces of teasing gone from his voice. Adam actually blushed, and ducked his head.

"You first, man….you get out there on the scene, _then_ you can hassle me about my love life."

Richie shook his head, rolling his eyes heavenward. Hadn't he just been having this conversation with himself earlier? "Like I have time to get on the 'scene'…getting felt up by a walking lightning rod is the most action I've had in months."

"Aw, c'mon Rich…I'm sure Static did not try to feel you up." A distinctly uncomfortable expression crossed Adam's face, and Richie quickly fell silent. The nature of Richie's…preferences was something they very carefully Did Not Talk About, and Adam shared a mild case of the hero worship that had affected most of the rest of the police force where Static was concerned.

They were saved from further awkwardness, though, when a large hand descended on each of their shoulders. Richie jumped slightly, glancing up behind him.

"Oh, hey Mr. H," he greeted, recognizing the man who had settled on the bench behind them.

"Mr. Hawkins," Adam intoned, nodding his own greeting.

"Evenin' boys. Good game, tonight," the older man replied, smiling kindly down at them.

Robert Hawkins had been running the Dakota Youth Center for nearly twenty five years. In those years the neighborhood had grown and changed around the center…but it had always stood as the heart of the community. Drugs, gangs, rising crime rates—the center had weathered it all and never given into any of it. Richie thought that probably had more to do with the force of Robert's personality and iron will than anything else.

It also didn't hurt that well over half the local police precinct had practically grown up in the center…and remaining half had kids or grandkids that were in the process of growing up in the center.

"I saw what you did for Damian. That was good thinking, Richie. His family just moved here…he's having some trouble fitting in with the other kids."

"Eh, no problem Mr. H. We know how it is," Richie replied, remembering plenty of times when _he_ had been the awkward, new kid. "Always glad to help."

"Really?" a new voice interrupted. Richie glanced up to see Sharon had made her way over to them, and was now standing in front of Adam, a speculative look on her face.

"Sharon, now, Lieutenant Evans and Detective Foley have a lot on their plates already and—"

"Oh, it's fine Mr. Hawkins! We're always happy to help you guys out…you know that," Adam enthused before Robert could finish, his gaze fixed on Sharon.

Richie raised a sardonic eyebrow at his friend's presumption, but pasted a smile on his face. "Sure…what do you need?" he said easily.

"A bunch of the other youth groups and churches around town are putting together a big carnival next week at the fairgrounds," Sharon began.

"Oh yeah…I've seen the flyers for that," Richie said. He had a feeling he knew where this was going. Adam was going to owe him _big._ Sharon smiled sweetly at Adam, actually fluttering her eyelashes slightly, and Richie had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing aloud. Behind him, he heard Robert snort softly.

"Well, Daddy and I are getting a group together here to go down…but we need more chaperones."

"We'd be glad to!" Adam said before Richie could voice a single objection. Richie winced and wished fervently he could reach over and smack his former partner upside the head. There was no way he could do so and not look like a total jerk, though. Sitting on a sweltering bus full of screaming kids, and then following those same screaming kids all over a carnival full of more screaming kids?

Adam owed him _real_ big.

Sharon grinned triumphantly, clapping her hands. "Great! Now…assuming my brother keeps his promise and gets his lazy ass out here, we'll have it covered."

" Sharon!" Robert said reprovingly.

"Oh what, Daddy? He's never around when we need him!" Sharon planted her hands on her hips, a supremely irritated expression chasing the grin away. Adam and Richie shared a slightly uncomfortable glance, and Richie shrugged at the other man helplessly.

Richie had never met Robert's son… wasn't even sure of the other youth's name…he thought it started with a V. Victor, or Vincent, or Vance. Something like that. All Richie really knew was that Robert's son was around Richie's own age, and was a first year law student at Dakota U.

If Sharon was to be believed, her younger brother was also the laziest, most self centered, most annoying human being on the planet. Richie couldn't vouch for the first two complaints, but having known Static, he thought it was a safe bet the younger Hawkins had lost out on the title of "Most Annoying."

Robert sighed heavily. "Sharon, Virgil's got a lot to deal with this year. He gets down here when he can. I wish you wouldn't be so hard on him." Ah, Virgil. That was it.

Sharon laughed, shortly. "_Someone_ has to be," she countered. Abruptly, though, she seemed to remember that Adam and Richie were still present. "Anyway, if you two can be here next Saturday at nine, that'd be great."

" Nine a.m.," Adam repeated dutifully, still smiling goofily up at the woman. Richie resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Thanks, both of you," Robert said gratefully, hefting himself up from the bleachers. Richie and Adam rose as well, Richie draping his towel around his neck. Robert and Sharon began moving towards the few people still milling about the gym, and Richie and Adam followed at a short distance.

"Don't worry, I'll drive," Adam whispered as they walked. Richie shot him a wide smile that showed entirely too many teeth.

"Yes. You will," he replied, and waited expectantly. Adam had the grace to look slightly abashed.

"And I'll buy you coffee," he added after a moment. Richie nodded again, and raised his eyebrows. "All right, all right, breakfast is on me, too."

"Well, Adam, that's very generous of you. I'd be delighted."

"Glad you're on board," Adam muttered wryly. Richie was about to reply, when a commotion at the front doors of the gym caught his attention.

The heavy door slammed open, the sound echoing throughout the gym. There was a moment of silence, and then someone screamed shrilly. Richie and Adam were moving in an instant, heading for the doors at a dead run, quickly passing up Sharon and Robert. Richie reached reflexively for his sidearm, seeing Adam do the same out of the corner of his eye. Their guns, though, were safely locked in Adam's trunk out in the parking lot.

"Damn it," Adam swore harshly.

The small crowd that had been making its way towards the exit was now stumbling backwards, people nearly falling over themselves in their haste to get away from whatever had invaded the gym. Richie saw mothers snatching their small children up, and more screams were starting to echo through the cavernous room.

"Oh my God!"

"Who is that?"

"Darius, get back!"

"Someone help him!"

"Dakota PD, everyone out of the way!" Adam bellowed suddenly. He and Richie reached the fringes of the crowd well ahead of Robert and Sharon.

Fortunately, the crowd made way for them, parting like the Red Sea. As the people scrambled out of their way, Richie could make out a figure collapsed just inside the gym doorway, turned over on its back. Whoever it was, they seemed to be having some kind of seizure, thrashing violently. Richie sprinted the final few feet and skidded to his knees beside the fallen person, ignoring the burn of friction on his bare skin.

The figure was a man, Richie saw. A fairly tall, African American in shabby clothes that stank of sweat. Long dreads were pulled in a tight ponytail at the back of the neck, and his sharp features looked vaguely familiar to Richie, though he couldn't place the man.

Whoever he was…he needed help. Badly.

"Someone call an ambulance!" Richie barked harshly over his shoulder. He heard Robert order Sharon to run for the phone in his office, and focused again on the man. Adam dropped to his knees on the man's other side, his eyes widening as he took in the man's condition.

He was shaking violently, from head to toe, and sweat was pouring off his dark skin. His eyes were staring blankly up at the ceiling, the irises nearly completely taken over by the pupil, and the whites were so bloodshot, they appeared to be scarlet. He was gasping for breath, a choked, gurgling sound emerging for his throat, and when Richie felt for a pulse, it thrummed fast and furious against his fingers.

Hastily, Adam wadded up his towel and placed it under the man's head, as Richie tried to brace his shoulders to keep him from injuring himself with his thrashing. The people began crowding close again. Richie glared fiercely at a few of them, and was grateful when he heard Robert's authoritative voice cut through the frightened murmuring around them, ordering everyone back.

"The ambulance is on its way! Ten minutes, Adam!" Sharon reappeared at the edge of Richie's vision, clasping her hands to her chest. Robert came up behind her and wrapped one arm around her shoulders as they both watched Richie and Adam struggle to keep the man from injuring himself further.

Richie wasn't sure if ten minutes would be fast enough.

The tremors were becoming worse, and despite the rivers of sweat pouring off the man's forehead, his skin felt icy cold to Richie. Suddenly, despite their best efforts, the stranger surged upwards, breaking through both Richie's and Adam's hold. He scrambled over onto his side and began to retch forcefully. Richie clenched his teeth as the sour smell of vomit rose up around him, and he scrambled around to kneel behind the man's shoulders. He and Adam exchanged worried looks….this was way beyond the basic first aid training both of them had. Richie's worry spiked as he realized that the man had started to vomit blood along with the bile. Now Robert had no trouble keeping anyone back, as the crowd scrambled away.

"Holy shit," Adam whispered. "Where the hell's that ambulance?" They heard no sirens, yet.

And abruptly, it didn't matter.

The stranger gave on final shudder, and then the body went horribly still.

Moving as one, Richie and Adam rolled the man back onto his back. The strange gurgling had ceased, and his chest was no longer moving. Richie reached forward and felt for a pulse along the man's neck.

"Not breathing, I've got no pulse," he said tersely. Adam nodded shortly, and the two began moving with grim efficiency. Quickly Adam tilted the man's head back and began trying to check to see if the airway was clear. Richie, meanwhile, ripped the man's shirt open.

As he moved to start chest compressions, though, he froze, staring down at the dark flesh he had revealed. The man's chest was covered with raised, purplish red welts. His eyes widened as he took in the lines of red radiating from each welt…like the lines of blood poisoning.

The welts looked exactly like those he had seen on Ferret's body that morning.

"Wait!" he shouted, as Adam leaned over to start mouth to mouth resuscitation. Adam looked up, startled.

"What? C'mon, Rich, help me here!"

"Something's wrong…Adam wait for the paramedics," Richie ordered sharply.

"Yeah, something's wrong, this guy ain't breathing!" As Adam spoke, the shrill wail of sirens could finally be heard.

"Adam, _trust _me. " Richie looked uneasily down at the marks covering the man's chest. Something was very, _very_ wrong. Adam stared at him for a few brief moments, and Richie could see the war raging in the other man's eyes. Finally, though, Adam sat back on his heels, looking down at the prone man.

"You better know what you're doing, partner."


	5. Chapter 5

Heyas,

And on we go again. Hehe,Cypher's favorite sceneso far is in this chappie...can you guess which one?

Disclaimer: Not mine, no money, don't sue.

* * *

His name was Claude Reddie, aka Kangorr, and there was nothing anyone could have done to save him.

That was what Richie repeated to himself silently, as he watched yet another coroner's wagon load up Kangorr's body nearly two hours after the ambulance had screeched into the center parking lot. The paramedics had been throwing phrases like _anaphylaxis_, _internal hemorrhaging, _and _cardiac arrest._ He knew what these phrases meant…his and Adam's basic first aid would not have been enough to save Kangorr's life. Richie had _not_ condemned the man to death by preventing Adam from starting CPR. He knew this.

Besides…the paramedics had been throwing those phrases around with a hint of uncertainty in their voices, glancing down at the welts on Kangorr's body with the same unease as Richie had. And they hadn't let anyone, not even the coroner, near the body without gloves and a mask. Richie decided then and there that he wasn't going to feel guilty for keeping Adam from trying to get the man breathing again.

The small crowd that had been in the gymnasium when Kangorr had appeared had all left, their statements taken. Only he and Adam had remained with the Hawkins family while the police and coroner were cleaning up. Adam was seated on one of the bleachers again, talking quietly with a much shaken Sharon. Robert had vanished into his office and Richie…

Richie had a feeling he wasn't going to be getting much sleep tonight.

He rummaged through the gym bag he and Adam shared and pulled the car keys out of the bottom. Keys in hand, he walked over to Adam and Sharon, clearing his throat quietly as he came within hearing distance.

"Hey, Sharon…you going to be okay?" he asked gently. Sharon's eyes were red-rimmed and glassy, but she had handled the whole incident with an admirable strength and cool efficiency…Richie's esteem for the young woman had gone up considerably.

"Yeah…thanks, Richie. I'll be fine. It was just so awful—that poor man." Adam awkwardly put one arm around her shoulder, and despite the situation, Richie couldn't help smiling at the picture the two of them made.

"Whatcha need, partner?" Adam asked, looking up at Richie curiously.

"I'm gonna take a look around outside…see if the guys missed anything. You mind waiting?"

Adam frowned, half rising from the bleacher. "I'll go with you." Richie waved him off before the other man could complete the motion, though.

"It's all right. You stay here with Sharon and Mr. H. I'm just gonna take a quick look around the building; check out a couple of the alleys."

"Rich—"

"I just want to take a look. I'll have my gun."

Adam's frown deepened. Richie knew his friend was trying to figure out why he wanted to bother looking around. But then, Adam hadn't seen what Richie had seen…or if he had, he hadn't made the connections that Richie had. Richie still wasn't ready to start voicing his theories…not until he had some kind of solid evidence.

"Twenty minutes, man." Adam's tone brokered no argument. Richie nodded his acquiescence and shot one last sympathetic smile at Sharon, who returned it weakly.

He made his way quickly across the gym, intent on making good use of the time limit he had. Twenty minutes wouldn't be nearly long enough to check out the area thoroughly…but Richie already had a few ideas about where he needed to go.

Richie had thought Kangorr looked vaguely familiar….and he had been right. Once the man had been identified, Richie remembered him. He and Adam had busted the man once or twice on minor charges when Richie had still been on the police force. Kangorr's record had been fairly unremarkable--petty theft, possession, a few drunk and disorderlies. Like Ferret, though, he'd had some connections to the larger criminal circles, and the local gangs.

And like Ferret, he was now dead…under circumstances that had a full five bell alarm going off in Richie's head. He doubted that Kangorr could have made it far in the state he'd been in, which meant that whatever had brought the…whatever it was that had killed him…on, it had happened fairly close.

Richie walked across the deserted parking lot, casting glances up and down the street. He knew some of the local pushers had territory around the youth center, although Robert Hawkins had managed to keep the worst of it off the center property. Kangorr had moved in those same circles. It was a safe bet that if he wanted to track Kangorr's last hours, he needed to start in the alleys around the center.

He retrieved his sidearm and holster from Adam's trunk, snapping the rig on with practiced efficiency. That done, he pulled the flashlight out of the emergency kit Adam kept with the spare tire, and checked the batteries. Satisfied that the light was in working order, he slammed the trunk.

"Richie!"

He stopped at the sound of his name. "No," he groaned. "No, no, no, _please_ no. What'd I do, huh? Why do you hate me?" He glared up at the heavens as if expecting an answer, before he reluctantly turned around to face the super-powered pain rocketing down out of the sky, an aura of purple light surrounding him. "What the hell are you—"

"Richie what happened!" Static leaped off his disc as soon as he was within a safe distance of the ground. He stumbled a bit upon landing, before racing the last few feet to stand in front of Richie. " Po—uh—the Hawkins's—are they all right?" To Richie's surprise, Static grabbed him by the shoulders. "Are they all right!" Static demanded again.

Richie was shocked to realize the man was nearly in a panic. Beneath his mask, Static's eyes were so wide the whites were showing all around, and he was breathing hard. He looked as though he had strained himself to his limits to get to the center as fast as possible.

"They're fine," Richie said, puzzled. "They're both fine—" Before he could continue, Static let go of him, a look of intense relief crossing his features. Richie watched with a raised eyebrow as Static took a deep breath, running his hands through his hair.

"I heard…on the police band, they said someone was dead," Static murmured.

"Small-time hustler from the east side bought it on Mr. H's front steps…paramedics were calling it a heart attack or something," Richie said, unsure of why exactly he was offering the information. Ordinarily he talked to Static as little as possible. The other man seemed so upset, though. Suddenly, Richie tilted his head, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "You know the Hawkins's?" he asked lightly.

Static blinked up at him in confusion, as though he had forgotten Richie was standing in front of him. Abruptly, the unbridled relief vanished from his face, replaced by a slightly brittle version of Static's regular grin. "Hey, everyone knows them in my 'hood. They're good people. I was worried somethin' had happened to one of the kids."

Richie 'hmmed' softly, still regarding Static curiously. Static shifted from foot to foot, before his eyes seemed to light up. "So!" he said, his voice sounding overly enthusiastic, "what's on the agenda tonight, Detective? We gonna go check out some more warehouses?" The brittleness vanished from his expression, and the familiar, hated, teasing grin slid into place on Static's face.

"_We_ are doing nothing, and I'm _never_ going into a warehouse with you again," Richie said tersely, annoyance chasing away the curiosity.

"Aw, c'mon, Rich…you can't blame me for that!"

"I can, and I will. Go away, Static."

"Who died?"

"What?"

"Who was it that died?" Static repeated, crossing his arms over his chest. Richie rolled his eyes heavenward.

"I told you…a petty criminal, went by the name Kangorr on the streets."

"Kangorr? Hey, I know him. He ran in the same circles as your informant, right? The one that was killed down on the docks today?"

"Yes," Richie said slowly.

"And you thought Ferret had been killed somewhere else for a cover up." Static's grin was entirely too innocent. Richie could feel a headache coming on. "You think they're connected!" Static finished triumphantly.

"Go _away,_ Static," Richie demanded again. To his surprise, the electric hero immediately backed away, raising his hands in mock surrender.

"All right, all right. Hey, that's Lieutenant Evans' car, right? I'll just go talk to him…see what he thinks about your theory. Although gosh…if you think the deaths are connected, and someone was willing to blow up a warehouse to cover the whole thing up…why's he letting you run around looking for clues by yourself? I'll ask him…" Static trailed off and smiled smugly at Richie.

Richie sighed heavily, closed his eyes, and counted to ten. Then twenty. Then he did it again, in Spanish this time. "I _hate_ you," he hissed. Adam would pitch a fit if he realized that Richie had gone off alone with those kinds of suspicions running through his head. The older man was almost as much of a mother hen as Joe had proven to be.

Static's grin widened, and he called his disc back to him, hopping lightly upon it. "Great! So, where are we going?"

Richie was definitely getting a headache.

Without a word, Richie turned and stalked across the parking lot, thumbing the flashlight on as he went. He felt a light rush of air behind him, and then Static pulled up alongside of him, hovering a few feet above the ground. Richie felt the other man's eyes on him, and for the first time, was reminded that he was walking around in only his gym shorts and a t-shirt. And the gym shorts were rather old, and tended to cling…

"Gotta say Detective…loving the new 'office casual' look." Richie ground his teeth together and refused to give Static the satisfaction of reacting. He tugged at the hem of his shirt in what he told himself firmly was _not_ a self-conscious manner and kept his eyes straight ahead.

Static, miracle of miracles, actually fell silent after the single remark, and Richie was able to concentrate on where he was going. Adam would be expecting him back in about fifteen minutes, but Richie knew his friend would give him at least another ten before coming to look for him. Richie wasn't sure what he was looking for, but he had one of his famous 'feelings.' Twenty minutes would be enough.

He paused at the front gate of the center parking lot, looking left and right. Kangorr had been in bad shape when he had made it to the center. Somehow, Richie didn't think the man had dragged himself for blocks and blocks in that condition. Whatever had happened to him, it had to have happened fairly close. Still ignoring his companion, Richie turned left and began walking down the cracked sidewalk.

Like anyone in law enforcement worth his salt…Richie knew his city. He knew the gang boundaries, he knew the drug pushers' territories, knew the chop shops, red light districts, and gambling halls. He put that knowledge to work now, mentally tallying off the places near the center Kangorr might have been. Picking the most likely target, he set off at a brisk pace.

To his annoyance, Static kept close by his side….still refreshingly silent, but close.

"So, what're we looking for?" Scratch the refreshingly silent part.

"I'll know it when I see it," Richie answered shortly.

"Well can you give me a hint, so I can know it when I see it, too?"

"Nope."

"I'm trying to help!"

"No, you're trying to drive me crazy."

"Richie, I'm not trying to drive you crazy. Why, is it working?"

Richie tightened his grip around the flashlight until he heard the plastic casing start to creak. He quickened his pace, even though he knew Static would have no trouble keeping up with him. It wasn't that late in the evening, but the streets were deserted. There was not even the hope of some autograph hound distracting Static. Someone up there really, _really_ hated him.

So lost was he in his aggravation, he almost missed the alley way he had been heading for. He caught himself in time, though, and turned sharply, leaving the sidewalk. The alley was only a couple of blocks from the center…a couple of blocks of closed storefronts, and abandoned buildings. The center was the first sign of habitation on the street. The length of it was cast in shadow…the security lights on the flanking buildings had long ago stopped working.

"Rich? Where you going?" Reluctantly, Richie turned back towards the mouth of the alley, shining his light up towards Static. The other man was looking about their surroundings dubiously, wrinkling his nose in distaste. Richie couldn't say he blamed the hero, there. The alley stank of garbage, and worse.

He smirked a bit, raising one eyebrow. "I thought you said you were trying to help," he said.

"Please tell me we didn't come here to go dumpster diving." The worried look on Static's face was almost comical. For a moment, Richie considered it…but his better nature won out. Barely.

"We're not staying out here," he muttered, turning back towards the other end of the alley.

"Huh?"

Richie ignored the other's question, making his way halfway down the alley. He stopped by a side door in the wall, which had once been used to take garbage out of the building. The door had long ago been boarded up---the boards a weathered, rotten gray, covered with graffiti. To the casual observer, the place had not been touched in years.

Richie wasn't the casual observer.

He heard Static jumping to the ground behind him as he knelt down and pulled at the boards covering the lower half of the door. As he'd known they would, they came off with minimal resistance, the nails long since having been relegated to appearance only. He put the boards aside and twisted to face Static, who was standing over him with a silly grin and a slightly glazed look in his eyes. Richie glared.

"So, more breaking and entering, huh? You sure know how to show a guy a good time," Static said, blithely ignoring the glare, as always.

"Yeah, well, I save the wining and dining for the guys I _like_," Richie retorted…then froze in horror as he realized what he had let slip.

Static looked like he'd just hit the lottery.

"So, you mean—"

"You say anything, and I will kill you, all right? _Kill_ you." For the second time that night, Static raised his hands in a placating fashion. The effect was ruined, however, by his cat-that-ate-the-canary expression. Growling to himself, Richie whirled around again. He told himself he did _not_ see Static pumping a fist in the air in triumph out of the corner of his eye.

"All right, so why are we breaking into another abandoned building? Or do you just like dragging me into dark places where we can be alone?"

"If I ever drag you into a dark place to be alone with you, it'll be because I don't want any witnesses around when I strangle you."

"Oh Richie, Richie, Richie—"

"Look, this building is a drop point for the Snake gang, all right? Kangorr sometimes did business with them…only reason I can think of why he'd be hanging around so close to the center." The headache arrived, blossoming behind Richie's eyes and across the bridge of his nose.

"Ah-hah. Well, then, let's check it out. After you, Detective."

Richie shot the other man a suspicious glance, before standing up again. He pulled his gun out of the holster and pushed the safety off. Glaring once more at Static, he knelt down again and pushed his upper body through the hole in the doorway. The door itself was, of course, long gone.

He paused for a moment, half in and half out of the doorway, supporting himself with one hand on the boards beneath his stomach. He looked around the darkened building carefully, his gun tracking a quick sweep of the area in front of him. Without the flashlight, he couldn't see much, but there was no movement in the shadows in front of him.

Carefully, he braced his palms on the floor, keeping a careful grip on his gun. He pushed himself through the hole in the door, gritting his teeth when his gym shorts proved inadequate protection against the rough scrape of the weathered wood. He was forced to wiggle a bit, before he finally managed to get enough room to pull his legs all the way through.

Standing quickly, he brought the flashlight up and swept the beam over the area he was standing in. He knew the place was often used as a drop point and meeting hall between the Snake gang and their pushers. The police department periodically raided the place, and activity would shut down for a few months, before picking right back up again. It looked as though activity was currently 'on.' The place had once been a clothing store, and the large showroom-style floor showed signs of recent use.

Old furniture had been dragged in, and loosely grouped around an ancient TV set up on a wooden crate. There were beer cans and cigarette butts littering the floor, and more crates were stacked along one wall. Typical gang-squat. There were what looked like fresh footprints and scuff marks in the thick layer of dirt on the floor, but as with the warehouse on the docks…there was no sign of human movement in the place. Richie relaxed his stance fractionally, eyes sweeping the room. There was nothing in particular that suggested Kangorr had been in the building recently…but Richie was sure his instincts were right on this.

He heard Static struggling through the hole in the door behind him, and glanced back in time to see the other man get to his feet.

"Nice digs," Static remarked wryly. A flare of light surrounded his hands, illuminating the space much better than Richie's flashlight had. "So…do I get to know what we're looking for, now?"

Richie eyed him as he clicked the flashlight off, before grudgingly voicing some of the thoughts that had been going through his head since he had seen the welts on Kangorr's body. "I don't know," he admitted softly. "Anything that looks out of place. I can't prove anything…yet. But I think the same thing that happened to Kangorr tonight happened to Ferret. You didn't see it, but they both had these weird marks on their bodies, in almost the same place. Two people in the same kind of business, dead the same way? No way that's a coincidence."

"I didn't think those two traveled in the same circles."

"Mostly they didn't. They had a few common connections, though." And if Richie could find something solid on those connections, he could go to Adam with his suspicions. He moved further into the room, clicking his own light back on as he left the circle cast by Static's powers. Static moved off towards the opposite side of the room, and Richie left him to it. The less he had to interact with the other man, the better.

He moved through the building, flashlight in one hand, gun in the other, grimacing in distaste at the mess. Why couldn't criminals ever have hideouts in penthouse apartments? Or at least a place that wasn't infested with rats? He swept his light over the floor in wide arcs, scanning for, as he had told Static, anything that looked out of place. Not that it was easy to tell in the filth, of course…

He had nearly traversed the length of his side of the floor when he finally saw what had been looking for.

It was a small patch of the floor, near one of the boarded up windows. Like many other places on the floor, the dirt and debris had been disturbed…but here it had been disturbed violently. There were wide, sweeping arcs on the floor, as though someone or something had been thrashing around, and Richie could see another set of footprints going to and from the space. He made his way over to one set of footprints and knelt down, examining them closely. The edges were somewhat blurred, and the stride seemed longer than normal for the size of the shoe…whoever had left them had been hurrying back and forth.

"What'd you find?" Richie jumped slightly, immediately cursing himself for doing so, and whirled around to find Static standing just behind him. As per usual, Static showed not a hint of remorse for disturbing him. "Nothing interesting on the other side of the building…and no bombs, this time," he said, brightly.

"Great, so you can leave now?" Richie muttered, turning back to the footprints and scuff marks. He swept his flashlight around the area again, edging out towards the walls.

"Richie, if I didn't know better, I'd swear you were trying to get rid of me."

"You have no idea." The light caught something, in the shadows of approximately a three inch space between two large crates. Richie frowned and quickly got to his feet, walking over to the two crates. The object gleamed in the light cast by his flashlight, and Richie smiled grimly to himself.

The crates themselves came up nearly to his waist, and when he pushed one experimentally, he found it quite impossible to move. Whatever was in them, it was _heavy_. He pointed his flashlight straight down between them, illuminating the object that had caught his attention.

It was a small, glass vial. The kind hospitals used to store blood samples…and there were traces of an amber liquid clinging to the insides.

"Jackpot," he said triumphantly. He heard Static come up behind him, but ignored the other man.

"Hey, Rich, you want me to—"

"No," Richie interrupted quickly. He knelt down beside the crates, and tried to reach back to the vial. It had rolled nearly to the wall, and though he stretched his arm to the limit, he couldn't reach.

"I was just gonna say, I can—"

"No," Richie said again, standing back up. He set his flashlight and gun on top of one of the crates and leaned over the top of the other, reaching down behind it. He still couldn't reach, and he pushed himself up on tiptoe, trying to stretch down behind the crate. He heard Static suddenly suck in a breath.

"Then again, never mind," Static said, and there was a wealth of satisfaction in the tone. Richie ignored that, too.

He strained down towards the vial, but try as he might, he just couldn't reach it. He turned his head slightly, eyes landing on the flashlight and gun on the other crate. The flashlight barrel was too thick to fit down between the crates, but maybe he could use the barrel of his gun to knock the vial out from the crevice. It was worth a try.

He grabbed the gun and carefully slid it down between the crates, keeping his grip on the handle and away from the trigger. He pushed himself a bit further over the top of the crate, and the barrel inched towards the glass vial. Almost, almost…

Something pinched him.

Some_one_ pinched him.

A hand suddenly landed on his ass, and _pinched_ him.

With a startled yell, he leaped backwards, tumbling off his perch on the crate. He hit the floor and stumbled backwards, smacking into Static and taking them both to the floor. Richie's hand tightened instinctively on the butt of his gun, his fingers slipping, and as they hit the floor, the gun went off.

The loud crack of the gunshot echoed through the building. Richie heard the bullet ricochet off of something metal near the ceiling, and then the sound of shattering glass. He lay still for a few moments, just staring up at the ceiling, breathing hard. Then he remembered who he was lying on top of, scrambled to his feet, and whirled around to glare down at Static, murder dancing in his eyes.

He glanced down at the gun in his hand, back to Static, and then to the gun again, before slowly, reluctantly, thumbing the safety on.

"I tripped." Static climbed to his feet, grinning sheepishly. There was amusement dancing in his eyes, though.

"On…_what_?" Richie bit out slowly.

"On the thing." Static waved one hand vaguely around the floor, before he suddenly focused on the crates behind Richie. He stretched one hand out and the aura of purple light surrounded him, then shot out towards the crates. Richie closed his eyes and breathed out slowly through his nose as the crates slid aside as if they weighed nothing, Static's power latching onto the nails holding them together and manipulating the metal.

"You could do that the whole time?" he asked, pinching the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses. There wasn't an aspirin big enough in the world for the headache pulsing behind his eyes.

"I tried to tell ya'," Static said innocently.

"You…you…arrrrgh!" Richie whipped around, snatched the vial up off the floor, and then grabbed his flashlight. Glaring thunderously at the electric hero, Richie stalked past the other man, heading back towards the door they had entered through. "I _hate_ you," he called back over his shoulder.


	6. Chapter 6

Heyas,

Yeah, I should be writing lesson plans. Instead I'm doing 'fic. At least I have my priorities in order, no?

Still for Cyph, 'cause I like him and he does funny one liners.

Disclaimer: Fiftieth verse, same as a the first! I don't own them (never will!), and I don't make any money off of 'em (no, no, she doesn't make any moneeeeeey), please don't sue! (big dance finale!)

* * *

Richie woke to the rude ringing of his alarm clock. Groaning, he rolled over onto his back and spent a few seconds just blinking stupidly at the noisome device sitting on his nightstand. Why was the alarm going off? It was Saturday. He never set the alarm on Saturday…it was the only day he got to sleep in. After a moment, though, his mind woke up enough to remind just _why_ he had set the alarm for seven in the morning. Grimacing, he slammed his hand down on top of the clock, silencing the piercing bell.

"Ugh. Adam, you _owe_ me," he moaned aloud, scrubbing his hands over his face. He lay in bed for a few moments more, just staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom. The air was already uncomfortably close, even though he'd left all the windows in the place open. Looked as though it was going to be yet another monstrously hot day in Dakota…and he got to spend it chasing after dozens of center kids around a carnival.

Not that he didn't love the center kids—they were just a little hard to take this early in the morning. Add to that the fact that there would likely be at least a couple hundred other children running around, and it had the potential to be a very trying day. Oh well, there was nothing he could do about it now.

Adam was going to pay. Oh yes, he was going to _pay_.

Finally, he threw the sheets back and swung himself out of bed. Adam had promised to pick him up by eight to go to the center, so they could have time to eat before they left. He shuffled across the floor to the bathroom, and turned the shower on. While he waited for the sometimes sluggish pipes to heat the water, he examined his face in the mirror over the sink, critically. Sighing, he pulled his razor and the pot of shaving cream out of the cabinet just as steam began to billow out from behind the shower curtain.

Twenty minutes later, showered, shaved, and dressed in a loose pair of khakis and a green cotton pullover, he emerged from his bedroom. Despite the fact that Adam had promised to bring coffee from the little café around the corner from Richie's apartment building, Richie made a beeline for the small coffeepot sitting on his kitchen counter. One could never have enough caffeine as far as he was concerned.

After filling the pot with water, he pulled a bag of beans from the freezer. Dark roast Colombian, fresh ground. Nothing like it. Coffee maker working its magic, Richie headed for his front door and stepped out into the already oven-like hallway. He kicked the morning newspaper into his living room and jogged down to the apartment at the end of the hall. There were certain advantages to living on the same floor as the building super….for one, Richie never had far to go with a maintenance issue (although Richie himself knew more about building maintenance than the super).

Secondly, his landlady was kind enough to keep track of Richie's messages for him, since Richie was rarely at his apartment for a long enough stretch to _eat,_ much less answer the telephone. It was part of the reason he hadn't bothered to move to a better apartment once his paycheck had started actually supporting him. Why pay more rent for a place he would barely see? Besides…a lot of properties would have kicked Richie out after the first bomb went off. He felt he owed his landlady some loyalty.

He knocked on the super's door, knowing she would already be awake. As he expected, within a few moments the door swung open to reveal a pretty young woman his own age, with dusky red hair and dark, exotic eyes. She smiled brightly when she recognized who it was, and Richie felt an answering grin tugging at his lips.

"Richie! Good morning. What's the occasion? I've never seen you conscious this early."

"Hey, Teresa. Got drafted to help out down at the youth center today. I'm just waiting for Adam to get over here," Richie answered.

Teresa had taken over the building after her father had passed away two years ago. Despite her youth, she'd proven to be a shrewd business-minded professional, and a fair landlady. The place would never be a four-star, luxury accommodation, but under Teresa's direction, it regularly turned a profit, and was a pleasant, stable place to live.

"I just wanted to see if anyone had called for me before I left," he continued. A hopeful note entered his voice, but Teresa shook her head, long ponytail swinging over her shoulder.

"Nothing lately…just telemarketers," she said, leaning against the doorjamb. Richie's shoulders slumped a bit. He'd really been hoping to hear from the police lab. "I'll leave a note on your door if anyone calls today."

"Thanks…I'd appreciate it."

"You helping with that Family Fest out at the fairgrounds?" Teresa asked, the smile turning knowing, and just a little smug. "It's supposed to be close to ninety five today. All those screaming kids…loading up on sugar and hot dogs….riding the tilt-o-whirl 'til they puke—"

"You wanted me to help clean the gutters next week, didn't you?"

"Shutting up now, have a nice time," Teresa said quickly, stepping back and shutting the door. Richie snorted in soft laughter and turned back to his own apartment.

The ambrosial scent of fresh coffee greeted him as he stepped back through the door, and in short order he was seated at his kitchen table with the sports page and a huge mug that he was pretty sure was actually supposed to be a soup bowl. Perfect size, to Richie's way of thinking.

It had been four days since the incident at the center with Kangorr. Four days since he had turned the second vial over to the police department crime lab for testing. Four days in which he'd heard nothing about the mysterious substance in the vials, nothing about the marks on both Ferret's and Kangorr's bodies, and in which his investigation had stalled out.

Until he got the lab results back from the vials and the autopsies, he really couldn't plan his next move. It was frustrating as hell, particularly since his last case at the office had wrapped up and left him with nothing else to do. As far as he was concerned, the only positive point was that the intervening four days had been blissfully Static-free.

If pressed, Richie wouldn't have been able to say just why he was so eager to begin unraveling this particular case. From practically the moment Ferret's body had turned up, though, he had been plagued by a sense of urgency. He didn't know why…he just knew it was important he figure out what had happened to Kangorr and Ferret. He could sense that the few pieces he had belonged to a _much_ larger puzzle…and something inside of him was screaming at him to tear into that puzzle. That would have to wait, though, until he knew what the next pieces were.

For now, he had a date with several dozen center kids. He sincerely hoped Teresa was wrong about the puking on the tilt-o-whirl. Oh well, if it looked like the kids were getting green around the gills, he'd send Adam on all the fast rides with them. Speaking of Adam…

As if his thoughts had conjured the man, a firm knock sounded at his door. Without looking up from the paper, Richie called out, "It's open!"

Adam entered, laden with two large paper bags and a cup holder with two tall paper cups. Even from across the room, Richie caught the scent of some of the corner café's gourmet breakfast goods. "You bring scones?" Richie asked.

"Blueberry and raspberry. And that weird dry-dark-roasted-French-half-latte-coffee you always get. Man, I've seen science experiments that don't take that long."

"Good coffee is an art form," Richie said with even dignity. He drained the rest of his current mug and rose from the table, crossing the small kitchen to take the cups from Adam.

Adam followed him back to the table and gingerly set the bags down, wrinkling his nose when Richie immediately became absorbed in transferring the contents of one of the paper cups to his mug. "You know that stuff's not good for you, right?" Adam asked, pulling up a chair and beginning the task of pulling all the various items he'd brought out of the paper bags.

"Says the man who starts every day with bacon, eggs, and a side of deep fried potatoes," Richie retorted good naturedly. He snagged a package wrapped in grease-spotted white paper. "Ooooohhhh….that's the stuff," he murmured appreciatively, pulling the paper away to reveal two large blueberry scones, still warm from the oven.

"You need to learn how to cook," Adam snorted.

"I cook!" Richie said indignantly.

"Calling for takeout does not count as cooking."

"Sometimes I have to put it in the oven for a few minutes to warm it back up. _That_ counts."

"Whatever you say, brother."

They ate quickly, aware of the clock over the stove ticking down the time. Neither of them especially wanted to face the wrath of Sharon Hawkins should they arrive at the center late. They scones, and Adam's unrepentantly greasy bacon, egg, and cheese biscuits, were polished off in short order. Richie regretfully sipped the last of the coffee, and rose to put their dirty dishes in the sink for later.

"All right, Rich…you ready?"

"Can I bring my gun?" Richie replied, only half joking. He grabbed his keys from the bowl on the kitchen counter as Adam stood up, rolling his eyes.

"It's not going to be that bad!" the older man chided. "No, you can't bring your gun."

* * *

"You should have brought your gun."

"Told ya'."

Richie and Adam stood huddled against the wall of the center gymnasium, watching the chaos around them with wide eyes. There had to be forty children running around the gym, of various ages. Richie recognized most of them…but he'd never seen all of them in the same area at once. It was…intimidating. Given both his and Adam's professions, that was saying something.

Sharon and her father were by the doors, checking kids in as they arrived, and making sure parents had all the information about when to pick the children back up. Several parents had volunteered to chaperone as well…but not nearly enough were staying for Richie's comfort. By his count, there were going to be about sixty kids on the center's two activity buses and eight adults, including him and Adam. He certainly enjoyed chasing the kids up and down a basketball court, but chasing them all over a carnival with a few hundred other kids running around as well?

"I knew I should've brought the aspirin," Richie muttered.

"It won't be that bad," Adam said out of the corner of his mouth. A high pitched scream sounded across the gym, and the two men whipped around to see two parents picking a young girl up off the floor, having evidently been pushed by a boy who was getting a scolding from his mother.

"Who're you trying to convince?" Richie snarked.

"Let's go over and see how Sharon's dividing everyone up," Adam answered, dodging the question. Richie sighed and shook his head, but obligingly followed his friend across the gym to where Robert and Sharon were finalizing their lists of attendees.

Sharon looked up to smile at Adam as they approached, and Richie couldn't help but snicker at the smitten grin that made its way to Adam's face as he took in the sight of the young woman. They dodged around the final few children to stand at the doors with Sharon and Robert. Sharon immediately latched onto Adam's arm.

"Thank you guys so much for coming down!" she said. Adam's grin widened.

"Hey…no problem. Anything to help," he answered. Richie and Robert Hawkins shared a faintly ironic smile behind Adam's back, and the larger man moved closer to Richie.

"We really do appreciate this…you have no idea how much it helps us out," Robert said quietly, watching Adam and Sharon talk animatedly, their heads close together.

"It's really no problem, Mr. H. I just like giving Adam a hard time," Richie answered just as quietly, some of his irritation easing. "So, what's the plan for today?" he asked in a louder voice, catching Sharon's attention. She let go of Adam's arm, to the other man's obvious disappointment, and focused again on the clipboard in her hands.

"We divided the kids up into groups of fourteen or fifteen…two adults per group. Daddy, you're with Mrs. Carter; Mr. and Mrs. Hicks are taking another group; Adam, you're with me, and Richie…you get Virgil," Sharon rattled off quickly.

Richie raised one eyebrow in surprise. "You put me with your brother?"

"_I'm_ sure not getting stuck with him all day. Assuming he shows up," Sharon said darkly. Robert sighed heavily.

"Baby, he said he'd be here. He's probably just running a little late. If he's not here in another ten minutes, I'll call him."

Sharon snorted, and crossed her arms over her chest. "I'll bet you he's not even out of bed, yet. Virgil _never_ gets up this early on the weekends."

Which, in Richie's opinion, just spoke for the younger Hawkins's intelligence. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, hanging out with the young man all day. He turned to ask Robert more about his son, but was interrupted when the gym door suddenly slammed open again, as someone hit it at a dead run.

Unfortunately, Richie happened to be standing directly in that someone's path.

Richie let out a startled yell as the person barreled into him, which was echoed by the stranger as they both went down in a tangle of limbs. They hit the floor with the stranger more or less on top of Richie, and lay stunned for a moment. Quickly, though, the stranger scrambled off of Richie, and reached down to help him up, as well.

"Oh man, I'm sorry! I thought I was gonna be late…had to run the last blocks. I didn't see you…are you o…kay?" The young man trailed off as Richie reached up and took the offered hand automatically, pulling himself to his feet. He straightened his shirt quickly, frowning slightly as he realized the stranger was staring at him with a rather gob smacked look of surprise.

"No harm done," Richie said, taking in the sight of the other man.

He was about Richie's own age, dressed in simple denim pants and a red, cotton button up. He was wearing his hair in dreadlocks, and Richie's smile widened as another fact intruded on his assessment—despite the rather dazed expression on his face, the young man was _quite_ good looking. It was also impossible to miss the resemblance between him and Sharon. Richie stuck out his hand.

"You must be Virgil…it's nice to finally meet you. I'm—"

"Richie," Virgil interrupted, still sounding shocked. Abruptly, though, he shook his head, and took Richie's hand, shaking it firmly. "Er…Richie Foley. Right?"

"Guilty," Richie replied. "I'm sorry, have we met?" There _was_ something vaguely familiar about the other young man, now that he thought about it. Richie couldn't quite put his finger on what it was, though.

"No! Uh…no, nope, never met you before in my life. I've heard about you, though. Um, in the papers and stuff. Yeah. So…nice to meet you."

"Are you two about finished?"

Both Virgil and Richie snapped their gazes to Sharon, who was standing by the open door, one hand on her hip. Robert and Adam were standing behind her, identical expressions of amusement on their faces. It took Richie a moment to realize that his hand was still clasped in Virgil's, and he quickly pulled it back, blushing a little. For a brief moment, Richie thought he saw disappointment flash across the other's face, but Virgil quickly turned away, facing his family.

"Hey Pops…I didn't hold you up, did I?" Sharon opened her mouth to respond, but Robert jumped in before she could get a word out.

"No, son, you're right on time. The last kids just showed up a few minutes ago."

Virgil grinned widely. "Great! So, what's the plan?"

"You'd _know_ the plan if you ever bothered to call," Sharon said. "I left you four messages at your job."

"Oh…is _that_ what all that screeching on the phone line was? The secretary wasn't sure," Virgil replied, seemingly unphased by his sister's criticism.

"Daddy!"

" Sharon, please. Virgil, try to call next time. You're with Detective Foley, today…you've got twelve kids between you. Think you can handle it?"

"Me and R—uh, Detective Foley all day?" Virgil turned back and grinned at Richie. For a second time, Richie felt an odd sense of familiarity, but it was quickly eclipsed as he noticed just how much that smile lit up Virgil's entire face. He couldn't be sure, but he thought there might have been a bare hint of appraisal in the other's dark gaze, as well. "Yeah, we can handle that, I think. Right, Detective?"

Richie was rather surprised to realize an answering grin had found its way to his face. The day might not be such a waste, after all.

"Yeah, shouldn't be a problem," he answered. "And 'Richie' is fine."

"Great. Looking forward to working with ya', Richie."

* * *

"I told the witch doctor I was in love with you! I told the witch doctor I was in love with you! And then the witch doctor, he told me what to do! He said ooh eee ooh ah ah ting tang walla walla bing bang! Ooh eee! Ooh ah ah! Ting tang walla walla BING BANG!" Thirty young voices rose to a deafening roar on the last two words, rattling the bus windows.

"Okay, just the ladies! I told the witch doctor I was in love with you!" Virgil marched up and down the aisle of the bus, swaying with the movement of the vehicle and clapping loudly to keep time.

In the front seat, nearest the driver, Richie was torn between helpless laughter and annoyance. Laughter, because Virgil was making quite a spectacle of himself leading the kids in a sing along; annoyance because the first verse and the chorus were all anyone seemed to know of the song. They had gone through the same few lines about twelve times, getting louder on each repetition, and if the expressions of the driver and the other two parents who were riding the bus with them were anything to go by, it was about ten times too many.

"BING BANG!" The latest rendition finished, and the children burst into spontaneous cheers while Virgil bowed theatrically at the front of bus, before dropping into the seat next to Richie.

"Nice job…I think Mr. and Mrs. Hicks are going to make you walk home," Richie commented, smiling a little to take the sting out of the words. He had to admit, when they had passed the bus containing the other kids and the rest of the chaperones…the kids on Sharon's bus hadn't looked like they were having nearly as much fun. For a moment, Virgil looked startled, as though he had been expecting Richie to actually yell at him, or something. The moment passed quickly, though, and Virgil shrugged philosophically.

"The kids are enjoying it…that's all that matters," he said, and Richie nodded in agreement.

Mrs. Hicks, a large, African American woman with graying hair, had risen from her seat and was making her way up and down the aisle as Virgil had done, trying to lead the kids in a round of some 'I Spy.' She wasn't meeting with half as much success as Virgil had. The two young men shared a small smirk before Virgil turned in the seat so he was facing Richie completely, drawing one leg up to rest his chin on his knee. For a second, there was that same flare of appraisal, of interest in his dark eyes, and the smirk turned a bit sly. Richie narrowed his own eyes slightly in response.

He'd only just met the younger Hawkins, and so he needed a bit more time to observe….but if his Detective instincts weren't mistaken, and they rarely were, if ever, he was being checked out. It had been a few months since anyone had looked at him with that kind of interest (Richie refused to count Static's adolescent and annoyingly blatant ogling). Richie was curious to see just where the other young man was going with it. So far…Virgil Hawkins seemed to be a likeable, easy-going man, especially with the kids. And pretty damn easy on the eyes, to boot. If the first impression held true….well, Richie thought he might not mind the other's interest. Not one bit.

"Sooooo….how long have you been coming to the center? Pops never mentioned that we had a famous detective showing up." Virgil's tone suggested a bit of displeasure at that fact, and Richie tilted his head slightly, then shrugged.

"A little under two years. Adam was my partner before I left the force…we tried to get down a few times a month to help out. Just kept going, I guess. It's a really great place."

Virgil smiled proudly. "Yeah….that it is."

"All right, you seem to know a lot about me…what about you? Your father mentioned that you're a law student."

There was that odd flash of surprise again, and then Virgil grinned widely. "Yeah…and here I thought I could say goodbye to Dakota U when I got my Bachelor's. It's not so bad, though…the courses are pretty boring; lots of contractual law and legal writing. Once I get into my specialty areas, it'll be better."

"What's your specialty going to be?"

"I want to get into family law…social work, that kind of thing. I wanna work with kids, y'know?" He glanced at Richie out of the corner of his eye, and Richie nodded thoughtfully.

"Sounds like a good goal. What's your bachelor's in?"

"Hmm? Oh, uh, Child Psychology, and a minor in Communications." Richie let out a low, impressed whistle.

"Really? I'm taking some correspondence courses in Criminal Psych this year."

Virgil perked up, a mildly questioning expression settling on his face. "_You're_ taking classes? I thought you were this big, crime fighting genius." Unlike most people who brought up Richie's intellect, there was no hint of sneering insult to Virgil's tone. He sounded genuinely curious.

Richie ducked his head uncomfortably, and felt a blush coloring his cheeks. It was true, actually…Richie _was_ a genius (he had the test scores to prove it)...and more than that, he was a genius at what he did. More than once, he had been touted as a modern-day Sherlock Holmes, and the comparison wasn't far off. He didn't actually _need_ the classes, but…

"I…like the learning. It's interesting," he said finally, glancing up at Virgil and daring him silently to make a rude comment. Instead, Virgil looked thoughtful, and then nodded to himself.

"That's kinda cool." Virgil smiled at him, and Richie opened his mouth to continue the conversation, but a loud yell from the back of the bus interrupted him. As one, Richie and Virgil stood up in their seat, glancing toward the disturbance. The kids had apparently mutinied against Mrs. Hicks' 'I Spy' game.

"My turn, I think," Richie said, rising. He climbed awkwardly over Virgil to get into the aisle, idly noticing that Virgil didn't seem to mind the close quarters at all, if the return of the slightly sly grin was anything to go by. Freeing himself from the seat, Richie clapped his hands twice, loudly. "All right, guys!" he called out. Much to his amusement, and the chagrin of Mrs. Hicks, the bus instantly fell respectfully silent.

He pressed himself close to the seats as Mrs. Hicks made her way back to the front of the bus, shooting him a grateful look as she sank back down next to her husband. Richie smirked to himself. If they were going to make Virgil walk home, it would only be polite to keep him company.

"Okay, guys, I'm sure you all know this one…and if you don't, it'll only take a few minutes to learn. One, two, three….this is the song that never ends! Yes it goes on and on my friends! Some people started singing it, not knowing what it was! And they'll continue singing it forever just because…"

The kids joined in enthusiastically, and out of the corner of his eye, Richie saw Virgil crack up.

Mrs. Hicks just laid her head on her husband's shoulder.


	7. Chapter 7

_The door opens with a rusty creak, and the lone figure of a young woman slowlymoves into the long-unused room. She reaches over and flicks a light switch...only to start cursing as nothing happens. She shuffles forward cautiously, sneezing and coughing as her movements send clouds of dust billowing into the air. Finally, there is the faint hiss ofa match being struck, and a lone candle is lit. The weak light does little to dispel the shadows, only serving to illuminate the dilapidated, filthy remains of the Dakota Noir Muse Room. The young woman sighs heavily...then sneezes. _

_"Fluffy!Virgil? Fluffy!Richie? Where the hell are you two?" she calls imperiously, tapping her foot impatiently. She holds the candle higher as there is a slight scuffling noise from somewhere to her right._

_Finally, two dishevelled figures, almost as dusty and dirty as the room itself, slink into view. The taller of the two lifts one hand, and there is a sudden burst of purple light. _

_"Val!" the figure, revealed to be a young man with a head of dreadlocks, calls, trying to sound pleased to see her. The young woman glares balefully at him. He shrinks back momentarily, before shoving his companion in front of him. "You talk to her," he hisses, "she likes you better!"_

_"LIKES me? Did you see what she did to the other me over in the Glass Muse Room?" the other boy whimpers, shoving his glasses up the bridge of his nose. _

_"Boys!" the young woman interrupts, her voice icy cold. The two instantly fall silent. The young woman sighs. "You know, it's not that I mind you taking a vacation. It's not even that I mind you two not writing to me. But honestly..." She pauses for dramatic effect, and the two young men cringe in anticipation of her author-ly wrath. "Couldn't you hire a maid service? This place is gross!" _

_"Hey Val, it's your head," the youth with the glasses retorts before he can stop himself. The young woman's eyes flash dangerously for a moment, before a small smile lights her face. Her eyes slide over to the tiny candle flame, and the smile grows larger. _

_The two boys cower in abject terror._

_"Next time," the author purrs, "don't stay away for so long. Mmmm, fire...pretty fire."_

Hey guys,

Yeah, so, four months...uh, sorry? Really I am...I shall try to keep this updated more faithfully, but truthfully I really want to finish Glass up within the next few months, so that's going to be taking up a lot of my attention.I humbly apologize to those whofollow this story, and ask that they be patient with me. Since there was such a long wait,and Glass has been upping the angst and violence even more lately, I decided to go with pure, happy fluff for this chapter. Hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with the owners and creators of Static Shock, and make no claim on any of the recognizeable characters herein.Please don't sue.

* * *

The buses arrived at the fairgrounds just before ten o' clock. Richie had been expecting a fairly cheap get-together….blow up ball pits, maybe a petting zoo, that sort of thing. He was rather surprised to realize that whoever had organized the fair had gone all out. A huge double Ferris wheel towered over the fairgrounds, dozens of colorful tents had sprung up, the wooden rollercoaster that usually only ran during the state fair at the end of the summer was in operation, and the delicious smells of hotdogs, funnel cakes, and cotton candy drifted thick on the breeze. Richie watched the kids' jaws drop as each of them disembarked from the buses.

A sudden tugging on his pants leg brought his attention to one of the youngest of the center kids, an eight-year-old girl named Annie, who had often been on Richie's basketball teams at the Center. "We get to _play_ here?" she asked breathlessly as soon as Richie glanced down. He squatted down so that they were at eye level.

"All day," he said brightly. He smiled gently when the little girl literally began to shake in excitement before his eyes, bouncing up and down and clasping her hands to her chest. He knew Annie's mother worked long hours for horrible pay, and was forced to leave the girl with her aging grandmother for much of the time…Annie had likely never had a treat like this before.

"Will you take me on the roller coaster Mr. Richie?" she asked. "It looks kinda scary, but my friend Angela at school says they're fun! I won't be scared if you're with me."

Touched, Richie patted the girl's shoulder. "Sounds like a plan. We'll save that for the very last, okay?"

"Okay!" Annie threw her arms around his neck in a quick hug, before she skipped back over to a group of slightly older girls she had been talking with.

"Well, you've got quite a way with the ladies." The teasing voice sounded behind him, and he straightened to find Virgil standing just at his shoulder, smiling at him.

"She's a good kid," he said easily.

"They all are," Virgil agreed. "So, this looks really great. I was expecting a ball pit and a petting zoo."

Richie laughed a little, and shook his head. "Ought to be fun chasing everyone around." This time, though, the words lacked any tone of genuine complaint. Richie had to admit: he was glad Adam had volunteered them.

"Afraid you can't--keep up with me, Detective?" Virgil's expression was so utterly innocent that for a moment, Richie thought he had imagined the pause. Finally, though, he narrowed his eyes and nodded to himself.

"I think you better worry about keeping up with _me,_" he replied. Without waiting for an answer, he made his way over to the other bus, where Sharon, Adam, and Robert were standing with the other chaperones, discussing final plans for dividing up the children.

There was nearly a riot when it came to breaking the kids up into groups. Almost all of them wanted to go with Richie and Virgil. The two young men in question hung back, letting Sharon try to handle the crowd, but eventually were forced to step forward and avert disaster by promising to switch groups with the other chaperones throughout the day.

Sharon seemed mildly put out that her meticulous plans had to be saved by her brother, but a few quiet words from Adam appeased her irritation. The groups divided up quickly, Virgil and Richie taking a total of fifteen kids between them after negotiations, including Annie and several of the children Richie regularly played basketball with. The children paired off with adults, tickets distributed, and itineraries handed out, the group headed for the main gates of the fairgrounds.

It took Virgil all of thirty seconds to crumple up Sharon's schedule and throw it in the nearest trash can once his sister and Adam were out of sight with their bunch. Richie grinned to himself as the kids cheered. Virgil immediately called the kids into a huddle, and began discussing where they would go and what they would ride with all the intensity of a war council. Richie found himself drawn in, caught up in Virgil's enthusiasm.

"All right, all the best rides are around the edges of the fair. Everyone's gonna be going for those, first. So, if _we_ go down the game alley and hit the petting zoo first, we can go on the roller coaster and stuff when there's not much of a line. Sound good?" Virgil clapped his hands brightly. Richie quirked an eyebrow.

"You've put a lot of thought into this."

"I'm a thoughtful kind of guy," Virgil replied, winking at him. "Besides, getting on all the best rides is serious business."

Richie grinned a bit. "Well, I like the way you think," he said, shouldering past the other young man. He thought he heard a burst of startled laughter from Virgil, but was quickly distracted by the process of getting the children into a manageable group. Between the two of them, though, Richie and Virgil corralled their charges into a rough line. Richie let Virgil take the lead while he brought up the rear, keeping a careful eye on the youngest members of their group.

Within an hour of their arrival, the brutal summer heat began making itself known. There had to have been at least three hundred other children running around, and at least a hundred other chaperones. It was a truly migraine-inducing situation…and yet Richie found himself enjoying every minute of it. They crisscrossed the game alley, as Virgil had suggested, flitting from booth to booth at their whimsy. It was, indeed, less crowded than Richie had been expecting; evidently, people really _had _gone to the rides first. The children went through the provided tickets at an alarming rate, and Richie wasn't all that sure that the tacky stuffed animals and plastic toys they won were at _all_ worth the effort it took to get them…but everyone was having a good time, and that was what counted. Including him.

As the day progressed, Richie could feel the tension that had been following him around all week dissipating. He found himself relaxing, joking with the children, greeting each new booth or game with almost as much enthusiasm as his charges. It was even more fun than his visits to the community center.

Finally, the hot noon sun and the audible growling of several small stomachs forced the group to take a break for lunch. Food stands had been set up near the center of the fair, and large tents had been erected over several dozen picnic tables. With a brief, very intense bout of negotiations (which convinced Richie that Virgil Hawkins was going to be a _very_ effective lawyer someday), Virgil convinced the kids that they all wanted pizza for lunch, thus heading off the chaos of fifteen children trying to run in all different directions.

By unspoken agreement, Richie took half of the group to claim enough tables for everyone, while Virgil took the remaining children to procure and help carry the food. They settled down on three picnic tables and Richie immediately was inundated with cries of 'hold my stuff please, Mr. Richie!' Not waiting for an answer, the children dumped their goods on the worn wooden table in front of him, and Richie found himself nearly buried in a mountain of cheap stuffed animals and plastic blow-up toys. Shrugging philosophically, Richie arranged them into a neat pile on the grass beside his bench. Kids.

The children fell into excited chatter amongst themselves, deciding which rides they wanted to go on first. Richie rested his elbows on the table and propped his chin in his hands, listening with half an ear for any of the high-pitched discussions that might be taking a turn for genuine argument. As much as he was enjoying himself, he had to admit it felt good to get off his feet…and the air was marginally cooler in the picnic area, thanks to the shade of the tents and a nice breeze that had kicked up.

Idly, he let his gaze drift over the other attendees that had gathered for lunch. A few chaperones he recognized from various outreach and church programs in Dakota, but for the most part it was a sea of strangers…very small, very noisy strangers. He couldn't help the smirk that curled his lips as his eyes fell on some groups that were having considerably less success with behavior management than he and Virgil were.

Virgil.

Almost of their own accord, his eyes tracked the tall figure of the other young man in the pizza line. He was standing patiently, hands tucked neatly behind his back, but his expression looked as though he was fighting laughter. A quick glance at the center children in line with him provided explanation. All of them were mirroring Virgil's position, obviously engaged in some kind of game of 'Statue.' As Richie watched, one of the girls finally lost the battle with a giggle fit, and Virgil grinned widely, pointing at her. The other children burst into laughter as well, but quickly fell back into their "statue" positions when Virgil turned his attention to them. The little girl who had been caught grinned good-naturedly and made a show of stepping up to Virgil's side, joining him in inspecting the troops. Richie grinned as well.

Virgil Hawkins had been another of the day's surprises. Despite the young man's apparently _very_ healthy relationship with his inner child, Richie had found the younger Hawkins to be intelligent, quick-witted, and quite good company. They hadn't had much time to talk, what with riding herd on the kids, but so far, Richie's first impressions of the other had held true. Virgil was a very likeable person.

A very likeable person whom Richie was pretty sure was flirting with him.

Granted, Virgil seemed to be fairly indiscriminate with his flirting and a fair full of small children wasn't exactly an environment conducive to whispering sweet nothings. Still, Richie didn't think he was imagining the extra flare of interest in Virgil's eyes, the slightly _wicked_ edge to his words when the other turned his attention to Richie. So, if Richie followed his hypothesis to its logical conclusion…there was a possibility of flirtatiousness with _intent_. Intent towards what, Richie couldn't be sure, but he thought he might like to find out.

The question was: what was he going to do about it?

The thought gave him serious pause. Maria was forever pestering him about his love life, under the guise of being just a concerned friend. He'd lost count of the number of times his secretary had tried to fix him up with her friends (and then her friends' brothers when she realized that any woman's virtue was _perfectly _safe with him). Hell, even _Joe_ had gotten in on Maria's matchmaking schemes on more than one occasion. There were actually few things in life funnier than the sight of Joe O'Leary trying to help Maria hook Richie up with another guy. Thus far, though, their efforts to get Richie happily paired off had been for naught…and Richie was more than willing to admit that those efforts had fizzled because of him.

It wasn't that he didn't appreciate his friends' concern…and Joe's acceptance of _every_ aspect of Richie's lifestyle meant more to the young man than he would ever be able to say. No, Richie knew Maria and Joe only had his best interests at heart. He just wasn't sure he could bring himself to get that close to someone. Not again. Not after the way it had ended last time. Relationships were dangerous…relationships involved things like love, and commitment, and happiness….and slamming doors, and yelling, and broken promises. It was just easier to avoid the whole mess.

So why was he seriously considering seeing just how far Virgil was going to take his flirting?

Richie narrowed his eyes slightly, still staring at the other young man's profile. It wasn't just that Virgil was good-looking. It wasn't even that Richie had found himself thoroughly enjoying the other's company—though both were certainly factors. No, Richie had met cute guys before…he'd met men he'd enjoyed talking to and who had obviously been interested in him before. He'd just never been interested in reciprocating. What was different, now?

He couldn't put his finger on it…but there was almost a sense of familiarity about Virgil…as if Richie had already known him. Richie decided he rather liked it. Still, the question remained: what was he going to do about it?

"Mr. Richie, whatcha lookin' at?" Startled, Richie blinked and swung his head around to find Annie staring at him curiously.

"Oh! Uh…just…you know, checking out the view." He gestured vaguely towards the semi-circle of food wagons grouped around the picnic area. Annie frowned slightly, but shrugged and turned back to the other children at their table. Richie shook his head, mentally slapping himself.

What was he going to do about it? Apparently, he was going to start mooning over Virgil like a lovesick teenager. Maybe he could get Annie to pass the other young man a note: _Do you like me? Circle yes or no._ He was no closer to a conclusion when, minutes later, Virgil and the rest of the kids made their way to the table bearing piping hot pizza and cold sodas.

The children fell on the food like starving wolves and Richie could only watch in slightly worried awe as the gooey, greasy cheese and neon-red pepperoni was noisily devoured. His worry grew as they began slurping the soda down as well…and a number of eyes had already wandered to the dessert trailers bearing huge, colorful pictures of ice cream delights and cotton candy. That much sugar and caffeine coursing through little bodies couldn't be good.

He was startled out of his visions of trying to corral fifteen demons on a sugar high when something jabbed him between the shoulder blades. He half-turned on the seat to find Virgil standing behind him, two plates of pizza and two sodas precariously balanced in his hands. Quickly, Richie relieved him of one of each.

"This seat taken?" Virgil asked easily, readjusting his grip on his own paper cup. Richie shook his head gesturing grandly at the empty space directly across from him. Virgil's grin widened to something slightly more coy and he plopped down….on the narrow bit of bench left right _beside_ Richie.

Richie momentarily froze in surprise, swallowing a little as he became aware of the extra heat of Virgil's body settling against his. He quickly regained his composure though, arching one eyebrow as he darted a look around the rest of the eating area. No one was paying them any mind, and he tilted his head consideringly, swinging his gaze back to his companion.

Virgil was making a show of tucking into his pizza, but Richie was aware that the other was watching him carefully out of the corner of his eyes, waiting for Richie's reaction. The eyebrow climbed a little higher, and Richie felt a grin tugging at his lips. He gnawed lightly on the inside of his lip for a brief second, before nodding decisively to himself. Decision made.

"Something wrong with the other side?" he asked innocently. He felt Virgil tense up slightly beside him and again a sliver of confusion blossomed within him. If Virgil was so worried about him reacting badly to this game, why was the other man playing it?

"Uh…splinters?" Virgil mumbled finally, after a moment of awkward silence.

"Ah," Richie answered, lifting his slice of pizza from the plate, choosing to let the question of Virgil's slightly odd behavior rest for the moment. "Well, wouldn't want you to get splinters…that could just _ruin_ a night." He bit down into hot, cheesy goodness, smiling around it at the yelp of surprised laughter that worked its way out of Virgil's throat.

They talked of inconsequential things for the remainder of their lunch…it _was_, after all, a family friendly event with lots of children present. However, every so often, Richie felt Virgil's thigh press a little closer to his, a casual brush that no one else would notice. Though Richie supposed the other patrons might wonder just what it was Virgil was smiling so slyly about.

Richie was content to simply sit back, watch, and enjoy, trying to guess just where things were going. He watched Virgil watching him, judging his reactions, and waited for the perfect moment to enter the game on his own terms. Funny…he'd almost forgotten how fun this could be—the give and take of feeling out someone new. The odd sense of familiarity Virgil inspired in him only added to the fun of it.

The children polished off their lunch in record time, and before they knew it, Virgil and Richie were forced to abandon the pleasantries and escort their charges to the dessert line. Richie's horror at the idea of letting the kids flood their systems with that much sugar was reawakened, but Virgil, seeming to read his thoughts, leaned in closer than was strictly necessary.

"Relax…we're switching groups with Sharon after we take them on the rollercoaster," he whispered in Richie's ear.

Richie decided he could definitely get used to _that_ action.

He laughed shortly. "Ah, so you're gonna stuff them with ice cream, shake them up a little, and then shove them off on your sister right before they all puke?"

"Diabolical, isn't it?" Virgil beamed unrepentantly. Richie spared a momentary pang of sympathy for Adam, but quickly decided better his old partner than _him_.

"You're a regular evil genius," he snorted.

"I thought that was your department."

Without looking at the other, Richie allowed the edge of a sly smirk to creep into his smile. "You have _no_ idea." Virgil's grin brightened considerably.

"I can't wait to find out." Again, Richie caught a strange expression flitting across the other's features—half hopeful, half guarded. Of course, Richie could understand the wariness…they'd only known each other for a few hours after all. Still, Richie thought the other should have realized that Richie was more than amenable to any advances Virgil might care to make once they made it out of the presence of so many impressionable children.

"Mr. Virgil, why are you standing so close to Mr. Richie?" Speaking of impressionable children... Virgil and Richie snapped apart as if they had been scalded, Virgil nearly stumbling in his haste to back away. Annie was watching them curiously, her hands on her hips. A few other children turned around, and Richie did _not_ need gears turning in some of the older kids' heads.

"Uh...uh…" Virgil began, clearly racking his brain.

"Clowns!" Richie burst out suddenly. Annie's brow crinkled in confusion.

"What?" she asked.

"_What_?" Virgil echoed incredulously.

"Clowns," Richie repeated, gesturing vaguely to the side of the trailer they were in line at, where a brightly painted clown was juggling ice cream cones. "I'm, uh, scared of clowns…always have been. Gotta watch those clowns. Mr. Virgil was just, uh, telling me that there's nothing to be scared of." Richie stoically ignored the strangled laughter that erupted behind him.

Annie tilted her head, her frown deepening. Then, her face abruptly cleared. "Oooohhhhh." She nodded, and then slipped her slightly sweaty hand into his. "My mommy always holds my hand when I'm scared," she offered.

"Thanks, Annie…that, uh, that helps," Richie said weakly. The laughter behind him grew louder, and then dissolved into a rather unconvincing cough.

"Smooth," Virgil choked, barely audible.

"Shut up."

* * *

Even Virgil's negotiating skills were not enough to make getting dessert for fifteen children an orderly process. By the time everyone's ice cream, candy and funnel cakes had been sorted, there was only time for one more activity before they had to meet Sharon's group to switch off.

The group left the picnic area and wandered down the main thoroughfare towards the rides that ringed the fair. Richie watched the treats dissolve into sticky messes in the kids' hands in horrified fascination. Adam was going to _kill_ him.

Death was better than puke, though.

"So…roller coaster?" Virgil asked, having fallen into step beside him after Annie had decided that her giant cone of cotton candy trumped protecting Mr. Richie from evil clowns. Richie shot a sideways glance at his companion.

"Roller coaster," he agreed. The children close enough to them to overhear cheered loudly, Annie loudest of all. Virgil and Richie shared a smile and began herding the children in the direction of said roller coaster.

As they walked, Annie sidled up to Richie again, shyly holding out her cotton candy to him. "Would you like some, Mr. Richie?" she asked.

Richie regarded the large cone of sky-blue fluff briefly, smiling a bit. It had been ages since he'd had real fairway cotton candy. He tore off a small hunk near the bottom, free of spit-soaked sugar crystals and nodded graciously at the little girl. "Thanks, sweetie…blue, my favorite." Annie giggled and skipped ahead a few paces, rejoining the other center children.

Richie watched the kids for a few moments with a fond smile, before he raised the candy floss to his mouth a tore off a tiny bite, humming in pleasure as it shrank into a ball of sickeningly sweet sludge on his tongue. The taste reminded him of summers spent at his grandmother's place before she had died…Granny had always bought him cotton candy at the state fair. He nibbled at the fluff as carefully as any of the children had theirs, determined to draw out the unexpected treat as long as possible.

Just as he got down to the last bite, he happened to glance over at Virgil, still walking beside him. The other's expression gave him pause. Virgil's eyes were riveted to Richie; the slightly glazed look in them dispelling whatever doubts Richie might have had about Virgil's intentions. A warm rush suddenly unfurled in Richie's stomach…and with it, a rather wicked impulse. Just in case Virgil was still wondering whether or not Richie wanted to play ball…

Richie popped the last bit of sweetness into his mouth, and then slowly and deliberately began licking his fingers clean where the cotton candy had melted. Staring ahead innocently, he swirled his tongue over each digit, sucking it all the way into his mouth before releasing it with a wet slurp. Thankfully, none of the children were paying attention to them…it was actually slightly obscene.

When Richie turned his gaze to his companion again, he almost burst out laughing. Virgil's eyes had gone almost comically wide, and his mouth was hanging open. The glaze was gone, replaced by something else that gave Richie a pleasant shiver. He smiled devilishly.

"Mmmmm…good stuff," he said softly. Virgil's mouth worked soundless for a moment, before he closed it with an audible snap.

"I…you…" Virgil turned away and shook his head briefly, before he turned back with a newly determined look. "Richie—would you like to—"

"_Attention! This is a page for Detective Richard Foley…there is an urgent message for you at the front gate. Detective Richard Foley…there is an urgent message for you at the front gate!_" The public address system suddenly blared to life, interrupting whatever Virgil was going to say. Instantly, Richie's playful demeanor dropped and his head snapped back towards the front entrance.

"Crap…this might have something to do with a case I'm working on," he said tersely. He glanced at the group of kids slightly ahead of them, who had pulled up short as soon as their chaperone's name was mentioned. Disappointment was already evident on several small faces. Richie sighed heavily.

"Go on, man…I'll take care of things here," Virgil said, not bothering to hide his own disappointment. Richie nodded his thanks before he hurried over to Annie, bending down so that he was at eye level with her.

"I'm sorry, Annie, but I have to go," he said gently. "I promise I'll come back if I can and spend the rest of the day with you guys, but I might not be able to."

Annie bowed her head. "I know," she sniffled. "My mommy said you gots an important job." She looked back up again and Richie ruffled her hair.

"I'll make it up to you, sweetie…okay?"

"Will you take us out for ice cream next time you and Mr. Adam come and play at the center?" she asked hopefully, some of her disappointment abating. Richie smiled gently.

"It's a date. I'll see you later, all right? You be good for Virgil."

"All right, Mr. Richie. Bye!" She reached up and hugged him tightly, before stepping back to let him stand up. Richie turned towards the fair's front gate again, all business.

Virgil stepped up to him, sticking out one hand. "Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Richie. Good luck with the case. Maybe I'll catch you around the center?"

Richie nodded thoughtfully. "I hope so…I'll see you around, Virgil." He reached out and shook Virgil's hand firmly, then stepped past the other young man and began making his way towards the gate at a fast clip. He'd only gone a few paces, though, when he turned around, another sudden impulse seizing him.

He turned around and jogged back to the little group, pulling a scrap of paper and a small nubbin of a pencil out of the depths of his pockets as he went. He stopped in front of Virgil again, who raised one eyebrow in inquiry. Without offering an explanation, Richie quickly scrawled out his phone number on the paper and shoved it into Virgil's hand.

"Maybe I'm out of line here…but I hope not," he said finally. Then, he grinned and leaned in a bit closer, so that the children grouped behind Virgil couldn't hear. "And I do hope I catch you at the center…but I hope I catch you out of it, more."

Without waiting for an answer, he turned on his heel and headed for the gates yet again at a brisk pace. He didn't look back, though he was tempted to see Virgil's reaction. The ball was in the other's court, now…but he didn't think he'd be disappointed.

It was too bad he _didn't _look back, actually…he would have been highly amused by the sight of Virgil Hawkins trying to explain his spontaneous victory dance to fifteen curious children.


	8. Chapter 8

Hello,

Well, people, I would like to extend my heartiest thanks to everyone who has remained loyal to this story. I am truly awed and humbled that it has remained so popular, despite my lack of attention to it. Thank you. Thank you so much.

However, and while I _do_ remain firm in my determination to finish Glass (I think Cypher might kill me if I don't), I have to confess that Static Shock just doesn't hold the appeal for me it did when I started this story. I am working on other things in my personal and professional life (and attempting to add writing to the realm of my professional life!) and so I am officially placing Dakota Noir on permanent hiatus.

But!

I received a very interesting PM from an author on this site, asking if I would mind if she took over Dakota Noir in the interests of seeing it finished. I really want this for fans of the story, and so I have turned over the reins of this story with much gratitude to Elvish Lady, who will be posting the continuation of Noir in the future.

I thank you for your reviews and your interest in this story, and I promise that Glass will be finished by me. To that end, I am offering a short preview of the next chapter (also, 'cause I think posting new chapters just for announcements is a no-no here on of Glass.

Yours,

valkyrie-alex

* * *

Even more so than the broken and blistered shell of the city, the outlying areas and neighborhoods of Dakota were a no-man's land. The north side of the city limits, closer to Gotham, was still home to a few stragglers who were either too stubborn to give up what little of their lives remained, or genuinely had nowhere else to go. There were not even stragglers, here. A few of the smaller gangs of bang babies had set up operations in the area after Static had taken over, but they hadn't lasted long.

Most of the houses and buildings had been destroyed in turf wars, or were the casualties of clashes between the Justice League and its allies and Luthor's minions. The parks and small pockets of natural forest, once a beautiful, peaceful respite from the bustle of the city, had begun to go wild in the intervening years. Brush and new saplings were beginning to swallow the streets and foundations of buildings. Though it would be years, yet, before the traces of the battles that had been fought here would disappear, if they _ever_ did, there was something hopeful in the presence of the growing things...something that seemed to suggest that not everything in this world was destruction and darkness.

Just for the hell of it, Nightengale threw out one hand, effortlessly forming a cloud of dark matter at her fingertips, and sent a wave of pure shadow at a small stand of flower bushes, razing them to the ground.

Stupid flowers.

The crunch of her bootheels on the glass and debris strewn across the remains of the road leading back into Dakota proper was the only sound in the otherwise eerily still night. Nonetheless, the girl's eyes darted continuously over her surroundings, and the dark tendrils of her power swirled around her in a restless halo. These parts of Dakota had been abandoned by the residents almost immediately after Static had consolidated his power base, and by the remaining gangs after Ebon's ill-fated bid to take Static out. That did not mean there was no one left, though.

A soft noise reached her ears, suddenly, from somwhere to her left. A grim smile twisted her elfin features, and she paused in the middle of the street, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I know you're there...you might as well come out and talk to me," she sing-songed into the night. Her smile widened into an unpleasant smirk as seconds later, she was rewarded by the sound of slow, deliberate footfalls drawing closer. Silently, she grabbed the pair of cheap sunglasses dangling by one arm from the neckline of the thin, black tank top she wore and slipped them on. Protective gear in place, she at last turned to face the owner of the footsteps, widening her stance slightly and planting her hands on her hips. An intense purple glow, the hallmark of the Bang, lit up her immediate surroundings.

"What do _you_ want?" The words were growled out, suspicion and dislike dripping from every syllable.

Nightengale lifted a single eyebrow, the smirk deepening on her features. "Is that any way to greet an old friend?" she _tsked_, raising one hand to wag her index finger in a mockingly chiding gesture.

"We're not friends. Crazy bitch. _What_ the _hell_ do you want?"

"A little favor. Nothing major--well, not for you. We just--"

"Not part of the deal, Birdie. I helped you root out the rest of your NightBreed freak friends...I help you, Static leaves me alone. Those were the terms. I kept my end of the bargain."

"And now Static wants you to help him again. Last time...honest." Nightengale smiled nastily. "Two days work, tops. And then you never have to hear from us again."

Her proposal was met with a rude snort of amusement. "I don't have to hear from you _now._ I'm leaving. Find someone else to do your boss's dirty work."

The smile vanished from Nightengale's face. "Oh, you _really_ don't want to do that," she said coldly. "Deny it all you want, but you know we can make life very, _very_ hard for you."

"Are you threatening me?"

"Doesn't have to be that way. There's no reason why we can't all be friends. No reason we have to ever bother you again. But honestly, what are you going to do? You can't leave Dakota...you'd be killed on sight."

Her words were met with icy silence for a few moments, and then came a heavy sigh. "What do you want me to do?"

Nightengale tilted her head, the smile returning full force. She giggled sweetly, the cloud of dark matter twining around her body. "I knew you'd see things our way, D-Struct."


	9. Chapter 9

Hey all,

valkyrie-alex here...I used to populate the Static Shock section of quite frequently...and what you're reading here is one of my old WIP's. Sadly, time and interest have shifted me away from the Static Shock fandom, and I just don't think I can commit the time required to finish Dakota Noir, much as I love the story. So, something like three or four years after I last posted something on this story, it is apparently continuing. If any old fans of this story are still around, I am pleased to announce that after one person asking for it and then just disappearing (which I feel would be somewhat hypocritical of me to be upset about!), Kazegetsu has stepped up to attempt to finish Noir, with my full permission and blessing. I'm very excited by some of the things Kaz is doing, and I think this'll be a worthy finish to the story. Kazegetsu has graciously allowed me to post these parts under the original Dakota Noir, so that anyone who had the story on their alerts and is still interested would be able to get the alert.

Before I turn the show over to Kazegetsu, I do feel I should address my other massive WIP "Through a Glass, Darkly," as I know that many people who read Noir also read Glass. I AM still committed to finishing Glass. 400 pages in, it really does deserve to be finished. I don't have much of a time table right now, but something should be up soon. I'm going to shorten things a bit more than I had originally planned, but things will be wrapped up to everyone's satisfaction, I hope. Thank you to anyone reading this who still follows either of these stories.

* * *

Hello all. No, I am not Val-Alex-sadly enough-because she is definitely not continuing the award deserving 'Dakota Noir'.

I, Kazegetsu, unworthy as I am, will do it instead. This is essentially the eighth chapter of Dakota Noir. I am hopefully going to get this done. You know, hopefully. Well, one chapter is better than none right?

Disclaimer: This story here? Yeah, I do not own. Its Val-Alex's. The characters? Not mine either. Darn.

* * *

Sharon Hawkins couldn't help but notice something was up with her brother. Only a blind, deaf, mute, dead man wouldn't. When she and her group had met up with Virgil's and Richie's gang, he had run up to her and given her a big hug, proclaiming to all and sundry that she was the best sister ever. What's more, Adam had apparently caught on to the joke, if his grin and high-five was any indication.

"Virgil Hawkins, are you high on something?" Sharon demanded, although she couldn't help a slight smile creeping over her face at her little brother's face. A mixture between triumph, giddiness, and plain happy. He looked like he had just scored big time on something.

Adam, however, was ecstatic. Wait till Maria and Joe heard this! They'd been trying to hook Richie up for a long time. He wasn't blind of course, he saw the looks Virgil had been shooting his partner. Knowing Richie as long as he did, he knew that Foley would get it as easily as he solved most of his cases. Richie had passed them on his way out, quickly apologizing to the kids for his absence, and Adam had caught him trying to repress the same kind of grin when he quietly asked if the blond needed any help. Which Richie declined, of course.

It didn't take a genius to put two and two together.

Virgil was currently on cloud nine. He hadn't actually expected the detective to reciprocate his affections. He thought the man would have either ignored him, or treated him like he treated Static. Which, pretty much, was also ignoring him. Virgil didn't recognize the number the detective had given him as any rejection hotlines, so he was in the clear. Surprisingly enough, Adam had gotten it, and seemed happy for him, and the Hawkins returned the high-five with a gratified smile.

Words couldn't describe how surprised he was when he bumped, very literally, into the detective that morning. He wished he had been too surprised to speak as well, having almost given himself away. Smooth Virgil, smooth.

One thing he'd noticed about seeing the man in real life, was that he was noticeably more relaxed. More easy. He had sincerely expected a smack upside the head, or at least some sort of cold disdain from Richie for the bus stunt. He had been pleasantly surprised-a state he had been almost constantly in that day-when Richie had proven otherwise.

As Static he flirted with the detective every chance he got. Not anything serious, just a little teasing here and there, like the boy in kindergarten who tugged the ponytail of the girl he liked to make her pay attention to him. It was juvenile, yes, but it was fun. At first it was no more than a game, see how long until the other man cracked. It had inevitably progressed to something more.

The boy was growing up.

Nothing blatant of course. He still had not wanted to take it any levels up from where they were: the detective and the hero in spandex. Don't get him wrong, he was attracted-very so- but not only could it get complicated but the detective had voiced his dislike of his alter ego, Static, many times.

Virgil wasn't stupid, he knew that Richie viewed him as nothing more than a pest who sometimes helped him, although he got in the way more than he did. Virgil winced when he thought of the bomb incident. That had not scored any points with the detective at all.

As Static, he had a lot of enemies. Powerful enemies. He did not want the detective's life in danger if word got out that Static had his own version of Spidey's Mary-Jane in Dakota. Only his was blond, cuter, and very obviously not a damsel. Something he appreciated very, very much.

And now, with a surprising twist of fate and some very good luck, he had a chance to make some moves on the detective without the danger that came with superhero-ing if he played his cards right and managed to get past the genius of the detective. He could well have a good shot of getting what he wanted and was genuinely interested in.

Throughout the day, Richie had commanded the children like a pro. Even though the blond's youth was apparent, in both size and looks, he had this certainty around him, this aura that did not so much demand respect as deserve it. He had a genuine concern for the children, and that got him a gold star in Virgil's book. One thing was for certain, this attraction for the detective had reached the proverbial crossroads. Should he do anything about the number in his pocket? Or should he not.

To be or not to be?

As Virgil traded his shaken up sugar-high kids for Sharon's relatively mild ones he grinned, fingering slightly the precious piece of paper that resided safely in his pocket.

Because damn if he'd come all this way for nothing.

* * *

Richie made his way to the entrance gates, carefully avoiding being trampled, and making way for the people going the opposite way as best as he could. He could see Joe waiting for him at the gates, a grim look on his face.

"What happened?" was the first thing out of his mouth.

Wasting no time on pleasantries, Joe shook his head and pointed to his car which was parked right at the gates. No one had chased him off when he showed his badge. Richie nodded. This had to be serious if he had to be called in the middle of his day off.

"Do you know of a Matt Deckew?" Joe asked, once they were on the road.

"Yeah. He wasn't one of my informants, more of the 'friend who was the friend' of one of mine. Suspected drug dealer, though we don't have anything on him. Probably protected by one of the higher ups. I'm guessing, not anymore?" Richie asked. Matt was small fry, druggies like him died all the time. From their various STDs, overuse of drugs, or being offed by their creditors. It wasn't in his department. Unless. . .

"Purple welts like the ones found on Ferret and Kangorr were found across his chest. The lab called back. You were right, Ferret didn't die of the multiple bullets. He was already dead when whoever shot him. Organ failure starting from his lungs, Ferret died of heart failure. Much like Kangorr. They think that the same thing happened to Matt, although they're going to run an autopsy to confirm it." Joe said.

"And the welts?"

"Nothing they've ever seen before. Although they found traces of cocaine in the substance you found in the vials. They suspect it to be a drug overdose." Joe answered. He was starting to agree with his partner, this wasn't just another murder case anymore. When he had heard from the lab, and then gotten a call from the police sergeant, who recognized the similarities to Richie's current case, he had rushed to the fairgrounds straight away. It didn't seem fair to drag the young man away from the kids, whom Joe knew Richie cared for like his own, but work was work. And Joe knew Richie knew that too.

A new drug? Richie's gut feeling that this was something more than a simple murder case grew in its intensity. If it was a disease then why go through all the trouble of slamming four big ones into Ferret? What were the common factors in Ferret's case, Kangorr's, and now Deckew's?

Joe pulled up at a row of apartments. Run down and in a state of disrepair, it was the usual hangout for the homeless, the runaways, and the addicts in Dakota's very own red light district. Since it was in the middle of the afternoon, not a lot of the occupants were up. Most of them doing and dealing in the night, and sleeping in the day. The few who were awake shied away from the detectives, the two being very well known in those parts.

They made their way to Deckew's room, which was very obviously marked. Several policemen were there already, forensics already armed with their cameras and equipment. The two feet radius around the door was already taped off, although the people who were awake stayed as far away from the cops as possible.

The two guarding policemen didn't recognize them, and only let them in when they flashed their badges. Rookies probably, Richie thought. It wasn't important. He entered the place, carefully keeping his hands to himself, and making his way to the sergeant who was standing in the middle of the room, talking to a forensic.

"Hey Pete, you rang?" Richie quipped.

"Foley." The sergeant greeted, sparing the detective a small smile "I'm glad you're here. I hope I didn't drag you from anything important?"

Thoughts of the fairground, the children, and one Virgil Hawkins flashed through his mind. To be squashed down quickly. Now wasn't the time.

"You know I'm always ready to help." Richie replied, pulling on a pair of latex gloves the forensic had supplied him and Joe. "How did Deckew die?"

"See for yourself." The sergeant gestured to the side of the room, where the body was. The police hadn't taken it away yet, the ambulance was waiting outside.

The room was stuffy and smelled of blood, sweat, piss and drugs. Clothes and old rotting food were strewn all around the small place. It was almost unbearable, what with the people currently in the room lending their body heat, and the outside temperature hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk. Richie was aware of all of that, and didn't seem to care. He was in his element now, the puzzle pieces were all around him. All he had to do was find them to produce the picture. His highly analytical mind took stock of the things in the room, flashing through his other cases for similarities.

Matt had not been a very tall man. Five feet two, and average looking, he was just another run-of-the-mill homeless person. Unshaven and dirty, with a slight potbelly, he was not very cunning or sly. With just enough skills to keep him alive, yet not enough to be a threat to any gang members. All in all, not very remarkable.

The body had not been moved from the position Matt had. . .last occupied it in. Matt's eyes were wide open and so bloodshot it looked scarlet, something Kangorr had also sported at the centre. Richie crouched down and the forensics around the body respectfully made way for him, he hardly noticed it as he carefully hooked two fingers at the collar and pulled down to expose the top part of the chest.

Angry purple welts crisscrossed it. It was obvious he had died the same way as the first two. He heard a hiss of surprise just behind him. Joe shook his head, he had never seen anything like it in all his years serving in the police department. Never. Richie paid him no mind, his eyes scanned the body quickly. He noticed some white powder around the victim's nose. Cocaine probably. Matt must have been shooting some up before he died.

"What did you find?" Richie asked, not even looking up from the body. Pete consulted his notepad.

"We confiscated at least a couple kilos of cocaine, and a kilo of marijuana. The guy was a dealer all right. We found a gun in the place, probably for self defense. Illegal of course." Pete added.

"Vials? Traces of unknown chemicals?" Richie interrupted.

"How did you know? Yes, there were ten vials of unknown substances found on the guy."

"I knew it." Richie said under his breath. Out loud his asked "And the color?"

"Amber." The sergeant answered. Richie closed his eyes for a second.

Opening them and straitening from his crouched position, he asked, "Any signs of a fight? Breaking and entering? Anything to point to murder?"

"No to all questions," Pete answered "Looks like drug overdose through and through. We're bringing the vials in to the lab."

"Don't bother." Joe shook his head "Lab's got no clue either. We have to move quickly though, if there are others with this drug in their hands, they could be dead by the end of the week," he said, quickly getting down to business.

"The best thing to do now would be to send people to known druggie area, try to get more of those vials if there are anymore. If this gets out to the public, a lot of people could die. The way I see it, it doesn't take much to overdose." Richie agreed, absently pushing his glasses from where it had slid down his nose.

"Get the police spread out in Dakota. We need to find the source of this thing. Matt was a dealer, which means if he got something like this, the other dealers could also have them and could be selling the stuff to people this very moment."

Pete nodded tersely. "Done." He shook Richie's hand, and then Joe's.

The air outside was cool and comfortable compared to the dingy humidity of the apartment. Richie paused once they were outside, taking a moment to take a few breaths, and gather his thoughts together. It was five o' clock. The children must be getting ready to go already. Richie allowed himself a small sigh and a frown. If this was as serious as he suspected it was…well, a lot of the kids' parents were on drugs themselves. If his hunch was right, and dealers around Dakota had the stuff. . .bad. This was bad.

"You all right?" Joe asked, glancing at his partner with a concern look, momentarily taking his eyes from the road. He could practically see the gears turning in the young genius's head. The Irishman accelerated through the yellow light without remorse as they turned into the intersection.

Richie nodded distractedly. This was no coincidence, not at all. This could get very ugly, very fast, if something wasn't done soon. There was nothing to be done now, all he could do was wait for the Lab reports to come in if they had any more findings, and see if the police had any leads.

"You want to stay for dinner? It's mashed potatoes and my famous spicy chicken," Joe offered as they reached the office. Richie nodded gratefully.

"Sounds great," he answered with a smile. It was better than leftovers or ordering in. He could cook, sure, but he just didn't seem to have the time anymore.

They got out of the car, Richie heading into the building, fully intent on calling the centre and apologizing. He was sure that Robert wouldn't hold it against him, but he still felt guilty for what he felt was bailing out. He would have to follow up on that ice-cream promise as soon as he could.

He also needed to know if the Lab had gotten back to him. It was unlikely, but possible. He was very familiar with the people in the Lab, as he often needed their services. He also had a direct line to them and vice versa.

What he didn't expect was for Maria to come running to him as soon as he entered.

"No me digas, Qué bien! Mr. Foley!" Maria exclaimed excitedly, throwing her arms around him and giving him a big kiss on the cheek.

"Whoa, whoa. What's all this?" Joe called out from behind them and shutting the door, amused. Maria released him to smile widely at the Irishman.

"Richie had a caller!" she said happily. "He wanted to ask him out. It was a Virgil Hawkins."

Joe's grin threatened to split his face. "Finally! Well, what are you waiting for boy? Call him back."

Richie had gone from shocked to embarrassed. "It's not really like that, we've only just met and. . ."

"Ah, all couples had to meet for the first time." Joe winked "Now, hurry along. We can't have Mr. Hawkins wait."

"I don't have his numb-"

"It's next to the phone Richie. Quickly!" Maria hustled him to the phone expectantly.

True to form, Virgil's number was next to it. Richie stared at it, blinking. He had given his apartment number, not his office one.

The phone rang before he could pick it up, he immediately assumed it was the Lab with more results.

"Detective Foley." He said, but instead of Gareth Frankoft, the German scientist who collaborated with them, a different voice spoke.

"Aw, the way you picked up I'd have thought you were waiting by the phone all day for my call," one Virgil Hawkins laughed. Something inside him sighed, typical. It was the same something that thought it knew the other man from somewhere. The thing that screamed that there was something very, very familiar about Virgil.

"Oh, it's just you," Richie said instead, disappointedly, but chuckled a little to show he had been joking.

His answer was a sudden bark of laughter over the other end. "Okay, okay. I deserved that."

"What happened to my number?" Richie asked, making a shooing gesture to the other two, who were exchanging money. Wait. . .they had been betting on him? And by the looks of it, Joe had lost a bundle.

"I, um. Lost it. Sorry," Virgil said sheepishly. "I asked my dad for this number. So, what happened back there? Anything bad?" Virgil asked, immediately sounding concerned. "I mean, the, um, kids missed you," he said quickly.

Richie laughed quietly. "It was nothing, just a case of mine. Thanks for asking." He resisted the very ridiculous urge to twist the cord around his fingers, it was senior prom all over again. Not that he had gone, but he had watched movies. And he was not the girl dammit!

"Anyway, I guess it's kinda soon, but are you busy tomorrow night?" Virgil asked "It's okay if you are, I just, y'know, wanted to get to know you a little more. Since you seemed interested, and I'm very interested." Richie had to smile at that. It had been a long time since anyone was that he felt like reciprocating.

Tomorrow was Sunday, and it wasn't like he had made any plans. If something came up, Joe would call him. It wasn't like he would be any use to the case just sitting around waiting for the Lab to call.

"I have a tight schedule," he said, making up his mind.

"Oh. I-"

"But. I guess I could squeeze you in," he continued with a smile, he loved the game. "What time?" He didn't add 'are you picking me up'. Not a snowball's chance in Sahara. Please, he wasn't a girl, and this wasn't prom night.

Virgil laughed. "Is seven-thirty good? The movie starts at eight-fifteen."

"Seven-thirty's good," Richie agreed, "where do we meet?"

"Do you like pizza?"

"Pizza's great," Richie assured him "Where shall be meet?"

"The one and only Toby's Pizza."

"I know the place, see you there?"

"Absolutely."

* * *

Adam had been informed of Richie's case and was now patrolling around Dakota, keeping a lookout for any strange druggies or anything to help Richie out with his case.

Above him, like a bright comet flashing across the night sky, was Static. Adam knew how Richie viewed Dakota's hero, and was understandably apprehensive on broaching the subject of the blond's latest case with the electric bending metahuman, but he needed all the help he could get.

Adam, himself, equipped with his costume, a mask, and a bandana, was the metahuman Rubber Band Man. He hadn't told Richie about his nightly crusading, figuring-though unknowingly-the same as Virgil… for all the blond's detective genius, he couldn't very well analyze an enemy to submission.

He didn't know Static's identity and likewise. They were the 'good guys' sure, and occasionally partners. But that was all. And he preferred to keep it like that thank you very much. He trusted Static sure, with his life even. But he couldn't risk it, didn't want to. And so far, didn't have to.

He had met up with the superhero a couple of hours after dropping the kids off. Tired, but happy. Almost deliriously so. Sharon Hawkins, the girl of his dreams, had agreed to go out with him. He couldn't wait to tell Richie, they could celebrate together. Speaking of scoring. . .

"Hey Static," Adam broached as they turned into a quiet neighborhood. "You know Richie right? Richie Foley?"

There was a silence from Static's side of the walkie-talkie Adam had snagged for the two of them, then: "Yeah, 'course I do." Static's voice was weird though. Adam couldn't put a finger on it, but there it was.

Richie had mentioned that Static had shown some interest in him. Maybe a heads up was in order if Richie really was interested in Virgil Hawkins.

"What do you think of him?" Okay, time to pop the pretty disillusionment bubble he had been living ignorantly and blissfully under.

"He's the best detective Dakota's got. No offence intended." Static answered softly. The walkie-talkie crackling his voice slightly so Adam still couldn't put a finger on it. On what was weird about Static.

"No, I mean, as a person. Is he, I dunno, cute. Hot?" Adam had to practically force himself to choke that sentence out. He was fine with his friend's orientation. Really he was. It was still weird though. Uncharted territory he had no intention in playing Columbus into any time soon.

You could cut the tension with a knife.

". . .what the hell? Wait. Are you interested?! Because, sorry to tell ya, I saw him first." Static's heated tone effectively shattering any remaining illusion Adam had on the way the other swung.

Dammit! Why were his two best friends gay?! Why? Did he just attract gay people? At least they weren't gay for each other. That was a frightening thought, which had almost zero probability of happening though, since Richie thought Static was the most annoying guy on the planet. And anyway, there was Virgil. Adam didn't know where those two were headed, but his gut instinct told him they would be tight if they ever got together.

After Richie left, Virgil was obviously disappointed. Annie confided in Adam later about the Hawkins's impromptu dance on the asphalt, and what she had seen between the two men at the fair. And it sounded very positive.

"No! No! Its not like that!" Adam exclaimed. "He's just a friend of mine okay?! Damn man, I'm straight! "

"Oh," Static said. A bit relieved. "So you're okay with my being. . .?"

"Of course," Adam answered sincerely.

"Thanks man, means a lot," Static said, a smile in his voice "So, what about Richie?"

Okay, here goes nothing. "I think he's found another guy. Um. You know a guy named Virgil Hawkins? I think you've got competition. Rich looked very interested if you asked me."

Static jerked in surprise. "Wha-? Interested?! I mean- That's great!"

It was Adam's turn to jerk. "I thought you'd be mad or something. Unless I'm mistaken, you've got a thing for him right?"

"Oh! Erm. . .Yeah, yeah I do. But-" there was regret in Static's voice, "it wouldn't work out. He hates me anyway. It's. . .good that he's got someone though." Static's voice turned cheerful, almost giddy if Adam wasn't sure (or deluding himself) that the walkie-talkie was playing tricks on his ears.

"I've moved on y'know? Got myself a hot date tomorrow," Static went on happily. "So it's all cool with me."

Adam blinked, well, that went better than he expected. "That's good to hear."

A horrible shriek made Adam pause. It came from a young woman stumbling around just down the road. Like a crazed drunk, the woman swayed forward, her equilibrium obviously sunk by the way she moved. She kept screaming in random intervals, slamming into a wall like a madman. Woman.

"Whoa. What's with the chick?" Static said coming closer to the ground. Adam ignored him, hurrying towards the woman.

"Hey miss! You okay?" Adam got closer.

The woman stopped. In the streetlights Adam could dimly make out bloodshot eyes. Static called up some of his power, the blue light illuminating the woman and the area around them.

"Dude. . ." Static whispered, trailing off when he caught sight of her.

She looked like she was in her early twenties. Probably fresh from college. She had probably come from a club or something, as she was all dolled up. Her mouth was foaming, the rabid looking saliva dribbling into her dress.

"Miss? Miss? Can you hear me?" Adam gingerly laid a hand on her shoulder to try to get her attention.

"Ice. Ice. Ice," She mumbled like a mantra, jerking Adam off her shoulder. "Ice-ice-ice-ice-ice-ice-ice-ice-ice. Ice!" The last word was screamed, a terrible howl that rang through the night.

Then, her eyes rolled upwards, showing scarlet red whites, as she crumpled unto the ground at their feet. The metahumans didn't have to look to know she was dead.

TBC.


	10. Chapter 10

_From Kazegetsu--_

Oh. My. Donut.

*passes out from awesome feedback*

I can't believe you guys! Those who reviewed the last chapter that is. I can't tell you how much I appreciated all the encouragement and comments! I think I just about cried in happiness when some of you told me my writing style looked like Val's, which is a gigantic compliment to me, because I really respect and admire her a lot.

I'm happy to present you the ninth chapter of Dakota Noir, which I hope will live up to your expectations. Also, very sorry about the delay, hopefully I shall be able to post chapters more frequently. Also, Val-A has updated Through a Glass, Darkly! And it is awesome…

Disclaimer: I do not own Virgil Ovid Hawkins, nor do I own Richard Osgood Foley. They are characters that WB has taken from the comic books (Except Richie, who is a merge between the original's two best friends). Anything you read below is un-sueable, so don't try. Really. Trust me; there are more interesting ways to lose a lawsuit. (Like belly dancing in the court, you'll probably lose terribly but at least the youtube videos will get loads of hits)

* * *

The phone's ringing shrilled through the small apartment, effectively waking its sole occupant. The Detective blinked blearily, his hand fumbling around the small, round bedside table, and closing around the offending device.

"Detective Foley," he mumbled, sitting up and reaching for his glasses. He slid them on and glanced at his alarm clock, the glowing numbers telling him it was three in the morning.

"Sorry to bother you so early in the morning, Rich," Shenise said. "Just thought you'd like to know about a recent development in your case.

"Shoot," Richie said, suddenly awake and attentive. He was all ears for what his colleague had to say.

Shenise and her parents, along with Gareth Francoft, worked in the lab which catered to Richie's needs. Namely the things he couldn't do that labs, with their equipment and further knowledge of the sciences, could.

The reason why he was so effective as a Detective was because he could easily see things the Dakota police couldn't. Clues that they overlooked were picked up with his sharp analytical eyes, and sent to the lab for testing, examination, that helped him get a deeper insight on his cases that the police could never do in their lifetime.

He was a natural loner, and preferred to keep to himself and his limited circle of friends.

"A body's been found near the slums," she said. "Seizures, hallucinations, purple welts, the works."

"And how did you know about this?" Richie asked, even as he cradled the phone between his shoulder and ear to free his hands, reaching down to the floor and pulling on a pair of pants.

"Confidential," she sing-songed into the phone. "A certain Rubberband Man told me where to find them." So saying, she quickly gave him the directions the meta-human had given her.

Richie chuckled softly; he'd known Adam was a bang baby a long time ago. Deciding to spare his ego, Richie had never let his ex-partner know that he knew. He'd spent too long with the older man not to notice, and he wasn't stupid or blind when it came to the people he knew. Shenise knew as well…it was their secret they kept for Adam's sake. Richie had worked with Adam for years, was one of his best friends. It was obvious when it came down to it. It didn't hurt that Richie had once caught Adam in the act of using his powers, confirming his suspicions.

"I'm on my way," he replied, before hanging up. He pulled on a loose polo shirt, grabbed his gun-just in case-and slipped into a pair of sneakers before quietly letting himself out.

The walk to the slums took about twenty minutes. Twenty minutes to clear his mind, and get his brain working in its usual speed. He knew he had arrived when he saw the telltale electrical signs that Static was there.

The meta-human appeared to be talking with Rubberband Man, but broke off immediately when he saw the Detective, giving him a wave. Richie groaned. Not Static again.

After the drama of the day before, and having had only about five hours of sleep, the Detective was in no mood at all to deal with the so-called 'hero' of Dakota. Fate decided otherwise, because said hero was already coming up to him, Rubberband Man alongside him, a somewhat pleased expression on his face. If not a bit tired.

Richie winced and massaged the bridge of his nose, succumbing to the inevitable. When Static had reached him he asked, "What happened?"

"Well! Hello to you too," Static sighed, pretending to be insulted "What am I? Chopped liver?"

"Its three-thirty in the morning, I've only had five hours of sleep, and I'm still tired out from yesterday. I am in no mood for mind games, and I'd really like to get back to sleep. So either tell me what happened or step aside and let me see the body," Richie said sweetly, even if the glare he aimed at Static actually got the hero to step back a little.

"Ah, sorry Detective," Rubberband Man said, drawing Richie's attention to the other meta-human. "We haven't called the police yet, thought you might have liked to check it out before the fuzz arrived. Since it's your case and everything."

"How'd you know it was my case?" Richie asked, amused to see his ex-partner caught off guard. One of these days, if Adam ever decided to come clean about his nightly crusading, Richie would take much pleasure in revealing that he already knew a long time ago about his 'secret' (air quotes and everything) identity. The face Adam would make promised to be priceless.

"I-"

"I told him of course." Static slid into the conversation smoothly "I figured y'know, since the Ferret and Kangorr cases were similar, you were the best bet."

Dropping the subject, Richie nodded. "Fine. Before I take a look at the woman, I need your statements."

The two heroes quickly, and as briefly as possible, filled the Detective in. Richie was not surprised when he heard that the woman had acted like she was drunk or on drugs.

He went over to the body. The dress had been opened at the front to reveal the woman's chest, covered in only a skimpy bra. Purple welts crisscrossed her chest, and further inspection showed that the welts were thinner than the other two victims.

"Static, could I have a little light please?" The Detective asked of the hero grudgingly. Static complied, shooting the Detective a grin as he crouched down next to him, sidling closer to the blond, and his hand crackling with electricity.

Static whistled "Is it just me, or does the purple nasties look a little thinner to you? Feminine? Maybe it's a girl thing," he said, breaking both the silence, and the Detective out of his thoughts.

Richie started, seeming to just only notice that someone was there too. He nodded vaguely, quickly squashing down any signs that he was impressed with Static's observation. Didn't need anyone inflating his ego that was for sure.

"That's what I thought too. You've got a point though, maybe it affects females differently?" Richie mused aloud. The chemical makeup of a male and a female was different, which was why it probably affected whatever drug both gender took. This should make some head-way into the case. Finding out the components used in the drug by crossing out common factors, and finding new ones, should be possible.

Added to the grim confirmation that whoever was dealing the Ice, as Static and Rubberband Man had informed him was probably the amber liquid's name, was starting to deal it to the slum people. And if not stopped, they could move on to the public general. That was a terrible thought.

"Hey, I recognize her," Static said suddenly. He had been trying to discover why the girl was so familiar since he'd shed some light on the situation earlier when Rubberband Man had knelt to check her pulse. Why he thought he'd seen her before.

"She's one of Madelyn's girls," Static breathed.

"Madelyn Spaulding? As in the control freak overlady wannabe Mad Madelyn?!" Richie's surprise was written all over his face.

"The one and only, man. Damn, this is some shit if someone went and offed one of Mad Madelyn's angels without her knowing." Static shook his head, his hands on his hips. "See, Mad' Lyn's got this fighter force of chicks who work for her. Does all the dirty work and all that," Static added, before Rubberband Man could ask.

"How'd you know she didn't just overdose? Why say its murder?" Rubberband Man said questioningly.

"Well," Richie began "Madelyn has this rule y'see. It's either to be completely clean of toot, pot, you name it, or they get kicked out. Mad's a control freak. She manages all their food, liquids, and training. Everything, down to how they chew. Mad doesn't tolerate toots, and never let herself or her cronies touch it. So it's a safe bet it's a homicide."

"Her gang's not a very big thing in Dakota; I'm not surprised you've never heard of it," Static said, "She's powerful yeah, but her methods are whacked. An amateur next to gangs like Ebon's."

"So Detective, do we put Spaulding on the suspect list?" Adam asked, after processing the new information presented to him.

Richie shook his head. "If I know Mad, and trust me--I unfortunately do, it's not her style. If she wanted to do away with her own, she would do it quietly, and dispose of the body with everyone none the wiser. She doesn't want word getting out that she can't even control her own subordinates. She's a bang baby, so she can easily do it."

"So Mad's out," Static agreed "Who else do we have on the list?"

"We?" Richie frowned "_We_ have no one on the list. I don't even work with you two."

"Aw c'mon." Static grinned "We could be a great team! The three musketeers, the. . .the. . .We'd be a great team!"

"Look, I don't need your help--although, if I know anyone who wants to be almost blown up by a superhero, I'll be sure to get him to you," Richie said sarcastically.

"I'm fine on my own. Thanks for the heads-up though, and I do appreciate you two calling me before the police. But I work alone fine by myself." Richie hoped his sincerity was clear, and that Static would take the hint.

Rubberband nodded and went a ways away, where a pay phone was, to call the police, leaving the two to their own devices.

"Can't you just let it go? It was an accident! The operative word is almost y'know," Static sighed. "Hey, do you need a lift back to your place?"

"What makes you think I can't get back by myself?"

"No car, bike, motorbike, nothing. Damn man, you walked here didn't you? Don't you know how dangerous this place is at night? You coulda gotten gangbanged, or worse," Static pointed out.

"Coulda. Didn't," Richie retorted, glancing at his watch, four-fifty two. He'd been there for an hour plus. Counting the time to walk there of course. By the time he'd get back, it would be almost five-thirty. Well, at least it was Sunday. "I also have a gun."

Static frowned when his words got thrown back in his face. "Hey, at least let me give you a ride back. It's safer and faster. I'll bet your pal, Adam Evans, wouldn't want you walking around a place like this on your own. And a gun hardly helps against five bastards comin' for you at once." Rubberband man, who was coming up to them, stiffened slightly at his name.

Richie hardly noticed, although his brain had already copied and pasted the fact in the photo album inside his mind people called a photographic memory.

"You two should go," Rubberband Man said, "I'll handle the cops when they come." Richie nodded, even as Static asked if he was sure. Rubberband Man waved them off easily, saying he had some experience dealing with the fuzz.

Richie declined the ride, remembering what happened last time, so Static walked him home instead. The twenty minutes journey was spent in silence. Richie thinking about the case, and Static admiring the Detective blatantly.

Static had tried to cut down on the flirting and stuff but, juvenile as it was, he couldn't cut it all out completely. He knew he didn't want to anyway. It was too fun, enjoyable, and satisfying to get a rise out of the Detective. Any sort of reaction really.

Static gave a half-grin when they arrived at the apartment. "I know where you live," he said in a falsely menacing voice.

Richie rolled his eyes ."Good for you. This is where I say goodbye then, Static. So, goodbye."

Static grinned and winked. "For now."

He laughed when the door slammed in his face.

* * *

Static ran a tired hand through his face as he flew into an old abandoned gas station. It was his private place. It was where he came to think when he had a problem, or was facing a tough case, or even when the world became too much for him and he wanted to be alone. Now was all of the above.

_"Hey V, you comin' to play' with us?" _

_Children, young kids barely in their preteens, some toddlers still._

Peeling off his mask and sweat soaked costume, he pulled on some loose fitting civilian clothes. His Static activities always made him ravenous. And just because he had just about lost his appetite because of the night's happenings, didn't mean it made him any less hungry.

_"A gang fight at the docks. It's us or them Hawkins. Be there." _

_Helicopters. Purple smoke. Power lines._

A take-out box of chop suey in one hand, a soda can in the other, the black hero slumped down onto the old used sofa he had once scavenged out of the junkyard. A little tattered, a little beat up, but after he had fixed it up some, still usable.

_"Burning!" "It hurts!" "Help us!" "AHHHHH!!!!" _

_"Don't you dare hurt them!"_

_"Wade, Wade, Wade. Where they are now, no one can hurt them anymore. Rest their souls." A sneer. Implications. Realization. _

Having worked as a volunteer at his father's centre, he had seen a lot of messed up stuff. There were the kids whose parents were drug addicts, and neglected their children in favor of coke or meth. Those kids had to do anything they could to stay alive.

The need to survive could do horrible things to a child. Teenagers, barely out of their preteens, smoking pot and stealing. Mothers so young they were barely into high school.

Girls selling themselves, to scrape what little they could to feed themselves and their siblings. He's seen kids so hard in their hearts, apathetic to the point of unfeeling, that it broke his own.

_"Why!? They were children! THEY WERE ONLY CHILDREN!"_

This was some shit alright. This was serious shit. Ice. What was ice? Virgil thought he'd known everything about street drugs. Meth, coke, mary-js, barbs, opium. . .heck, there were a whole list of those damned FADs. Or, frequently abused drugs. Ice? It wasn't a slang he'd ever heard, and working with street kids like those in his dad's centre, he knew most all of them.

_"You'll pay for that. I'll kill you. I'll kill you all!!"_

_"Wade!"_

_"Let go of me Hawkins!"_

_Tip off. Police sirens. Finding out about his powers. The hard way._

A long time ago. Damn, it felt like a lifetime ago. He had been in a street gang, when he was a highschooler. His mother had just passed away, and he had hated the world. Hated himself. He was just, was just so lost without her.

_"I'm sorry Pops. I'm so, so sorry."_

Ever since his mother's death he had drawn the line at killing another human being. No, that was wrong, he had always drawn the line at murder. Even if he had wanted to turn a complete one-eighty around, he knew he couldn't. Not completely. Because of his mother. Always his mother. His father too.

His father had been an anchor when Jean Hawkins had died-but it had not been enough. Perhaps if there had been somebody else to help him, he wouldn't have even entertained thoughts of the gang, but there hadn't been. And he knew there was no one to blame but himself.

_"I've. . .I've got to be there. T-the funeral. It's the least I can do for them kids, Pops. I'm gonna be straight from now on."_

He had been a pretty big thing back then, second in command in Wade's gang, and renowned to be a tough fighter. He had been bad. Really bad. He hadn't been a tooter, though, some deep down concrete respect for his pop had prevented that. His pop, and his sister, they'd both tried to turn him back to the straight and narrow. He hadn't listened. Until something happened, something so big and terrible it rocked his world completely off the axis he had known.

_"I swear."_

It had shaken him up violently. Had made him take a good look at himself, and what he was, and what he wanted to be. This was where he was now.

He made quick work of his meal, using his powers to discard the rubbish in the nearby waste bin.

He jogged to his apartment, the early morning air waking him up. Ah morning, time for him to sleep. He felt his lips curl up in a small smile, yeah-sleep sounded great. His watch told him it was six-thirty in the AM.

The sun rose almost lazily, its colors painting the surroundings orange. His sneakers slapped the asphalt in a steady staccato rhythm as he let his body settle into the pace.

It was another fifteen minutes to his apartment. He was looking forward to a shower and then bed. He knew that if he hadn't eaten at the old abandoned gas station of solitude (Hey, Superman never actually patented the name) he wouldn't have at home.

Even if he brought home takeout, he would just collapse into bed and let it go cold. At least in the gas station he could force himself to at least have a meal. His cell rang, and he slowed to a walk, digging into his pocket and grabbing his hand phone, sparing a quick glance at the caller ID.

"Hello, you've reached Virgil Hawkins. You know the drill," he joked, "naw I'm just kidding. Hey Francis."

"You're just a freakin' barrel of laughs aren't you?" Francis growled. "You want your car or what?"

"You fixed it already?" Virgil couldn't help but ask, already wincing at the stupid question. Duh, of course Francis would be done. He was one of the best mechanics around.

A snort could be heard from the other end "No. Of course not. I just want you to take away your hunk'er junk outta my garage, it's a friggin eyesore," Francis said sarcastically.

"Okay, okay. Stupid question, wasn't thinkin' straight," Virgil said appeasingly.

"Got other things on your mind, ey fairy-boy?" Francis's smirk could practically be heard from the other line. "Like a certain date with Dakota's criminal-catchin' finest?"

Virgil's eyes widened, how did Francis. . ."'Course not," he wisecracked easily, his mouth taking over while his brain caught up from its 'how the hell did-' state. "I like guys and all, but Static's not my type."

"You know what I meant. I just wonder how the hell a dumbass like you could end up with a guy like Foley."

"Okay, I give. How'd you know?" Virgil asked, ignoring the jibe.

"My girl, Maria, told me," Francis said smugly. "She works for Foley and Joe."

"That's. . .nice to know." Virgil scratched the back of his neck ."I'll pick it up at two."

"Oh yeah, and dipstick?" Francis said when Virgil was about to hang up.

"Yeah?"

"Foley's a good guy. A really good guy. He and I aren't all that tight, but he watches out for my girl, an' he watches out for me so I owe him a favor or two," Francis said pleasantly, with an edge to his voice. "So you'd better treat him right, 'else I'll pound you in so hard no one's gonna recognize your corpse," Francis growled the last sentence warningly.

He hung up abruptly, not giving Virgil the chance to answer.

* * *

Richie was just about to get up and leave the restaurant when in walked the person who was supposed to have been there an hour ago. Virgil Hawkins's eyes swept across the place quickly, trying to find his date, whom he hoped had not left already. He spotted the Detective and hurried towards him, a sheepish smile working its way across his face. Another person was sitting across Richie, chatting with the man. He paused mid-way when he spotted Virgil and seemed to recognize that the black man was the errant date. He sort of glared at him as he went pass. He was probably a waiter or something.

"Ah-Sorry I'm late. I had to, um, rescue a cat. Poor creature was stuck up a tree?" Virgil offered. Richie stared at him in silence, the look on his face said he didn't believe him in the slightest. Virgil slid into the seat across the blond, carefully.

"Rescuing a cat wouldn't take an hour, would it?" Richie asked, his tone conversational "I mean, unless you were rescuing, I don't know, a tiger." Virgil knew that look, having been on its receiving end many times as his costumed alter-ego, it was the look that said 'I'm being very pleasant right now so I don't lose it in a public place and make a spectacle, I would have you know, however, that I am very, very pissed.'

Virgil, recognizing the look, groaned mentally. Great. Just great. Blowing his only shot with Richie would just be icing on the top of his crappy day. First, he'd gotten up at two-fifteen. And had been given the evil-eye from Francis for being an hour late.

Then, he'd gotten stuck in traffic as he was coming back from the supermarket because a bang-baby decided it didn't like rush-hour traffic either. Then, he had to duke it out with the bang-baby, who looked like the purple version of the Hulk. Then, he'd found out that his car had been towed away, because when he'd parked it to change into Static, he'd apparently parked it in the 'no-parking' area.

Then, to make matters worse, the bang-baby got away while the police were taking him/her (you couldn't tell, since when the bang-baby spoke, it sounded like a girl and a guy speaking at once) in because one of them-a rookie probably-hadn't cuffed him/her properly, allowing him/her to escape.

Static had to re-capture him/her, which took some time, since cars and people where everywhere and Static had to do it without any civilian casualties.

All in all, yes, one of the crappiest day in the history of crap-shit days.

It must have shown on his face, because Richie's face softened slightly "Bad day?" he asked, understandingly.

Virgil smiled ruefully. "The worse. Truth is, I was really looking forward to tonight. Could we, I dunno, start over?" he asked tentatively.

"Well, aside from my ego battered from being almost stood up, I guess I'm fine with that. I guess this is probably pay-back from all the other times I've stood up my other dates. At least James came over--that's the waiter--to make me seem less desperate." Richie grinned lightly. Then smirked. "Dinner's your treat of course," he said.

Virgil winked. "I was gonna, if you must know. A gentleman must always treat a lady proper 'yknow." A sharp kick from under the table silenced his ensuing laughter, although there was still a grin on his face.

"So, what happened?" Richie asked, after they had ordered. Their waiter James, the same one keeping Richie company, was the second to give Virgil the evil eye that day. Probably for making the Detective wait.

Virgil described his day, editing out those funny little details that would have given him away as Static. Richie was adequately sympathetic, even though he visibly grimaced when he got to the part about Static fighting the bang-baby (Virgil being a spectator of course). The Detective muttered something about wondering how the human sparkplug had so much energy. Obviously referring to the night before, the event Virgil was supposed to have no idea of. Virgil offered that Static seemed a little tired when he was fighting.

They were way too late for the movie, and decided to ditch that idea in lieu of staying in the restaurant and talking. It was ten o' clock before they finally remembered the time.

"Ah, it's getting late." Richie said, looking at his watch. Virgil's disappointment was evident, as he and the Detective got up. Virgil paid for the food, and they were out of there.

* * *

Richie fumbled to open the door of his apartment. It was quite a challenge when your back was pressed to it, and your mouth was otherwise occupied.

"Stay for coffee?" he murmured into Virgil's mouth, in the brief times they actually had to come up for air.

"Why not?" Virgil said amused, since it was an obvious given. Richie finally got the door open, and they stumbled in, the thought of letting go seeming to have never occurred to either of them.

"Oh damn, I just remembered I'm out of coffee," Richie muttered. Virgil gave a bark of laughter.

"Oh, screw coffee," he replied, helpfully closing the apartment door with his foot. Hopefully the noise wouldn't wake anyone.

"Interesting. A fantasy of yours?" Richie teased, pulling away for a second to give the other a wide smirk. Virgil laughed again. It appeared the Detective's brain was clear enough to make snarky remarks.

Something Virgil promised to amend immediately, as he forcefully claimed with his own that oh-so-seductive pair of lips again.


End file.
